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THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

OBSERVATIONS AND EXPERIENCES IN TRIPOLI 




■•^VA\i«^% -^ 




The Arbar-Arsat 

Through Tripoli's byways 



THE GATEWAY TO THE 
SAHARA 

OBSERVATIONS AND EXPERIENCES 
IN TRIPOLI 

BY 

CHARLES WELLINGTON FURLONG, F.R.G.S. 



N 



WITH ILLtrSTHATIONS BY THE ATTTHOR FROM PAINTINGS 

IN COLOR, DRAWINGS IN BLACK AND 

WHITE, AND PHOTOGRAPHS 




NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1909 



D 



-■V 



<^<.'^ 

-y ^ 



Copyright, 1909, bt 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

Published September, 1909 



y 



SEP 29 1909 




^0 

MY WIFE 



PREFACE 

Tripoli, in Barbary, is the only Mohamme- 
dan-ruled state in Northern Africa, the last 
Turkish possession on that continent, and out- 
side its own confines is little known. 

Nowhere in Northern Africa can the life of 
town, oasis, and desert be found more native 
and typical than in Tripolitania. How long 
before the primitive customs of this people will 
give way before the progressive aggression of 
some Christian power, and the picture of an 
ancient patriarchal life be tarnished with the 
cheap veneer of a commercial vanguard, may 
be answered any morning by the cable news of 
the daily paper. 

The great dynamic forces of modern civiliza- 
tion cause events to march with astounding 
swiftness. Tripoli, in Barbary, is already in 
the eye of Europe; to-morrow the Tripoli of 
to-day may have vanished. 

We have recently skirted the edge of Morocco 
with the French legions, sojourned for a while 

[vii] 



PREFACE 

in far-famed Biskra, wandered in Southern 
Tunisia and felt the charm and subtile influ- 
ence of the Garden of Allah, and have visited 
the Pyramids — by electric car. But that vast 
middle region, Tripoli, where the great range 
of the Atlas runs to sand and the mighty desert 
meets the sea, has been left unentered, unde- 
scribed. 

June, 1904, found me a second time in North 
Africa; previously it was Morocco, the western- 
most outpost of the Orient, now it was Tripoli, 
the easternmost state of Barbary. A specially 
vised Turkish passport let me into The Gate- 
way to the Sahara — the first American to enter 
in two years. 

Within these pages by word and picture I 
have endeavored to give an insight into this 
most native of the Barbary capitals, its odd and 
fascinating customs, industries, and incidents; 
a view of those strange and interesting people 
who inhabit the oases and table-lands of Tripoli- 
tania, their primitive methods and patriarchal 
life; an account of the hazardous vocation of 
the Greek sponge divers off the Tripoli coast; 
a story of the circumstances surrounding the 
dramatic episode of the burning of the United 

[viii] 



PREFACE 

States Frigate Philadelphia in 1804, and of my 
discovery of the wrecked hull below the waters 
of Tripoli harbor in 1904; a narrative of some 
personal adventures which occurred during a 
trip alone with Arabs over some two hundred 
miles of the Great Sahara; and a description 
of the daily life and vicissitudes of the camel 
and the Saharan caravans, of the trails over 
which they travel, and of the great wastes which 
surround them. 

In recording the impressions of town and 
desert it has been my endeavor throughout this 
volume with pen and with brush to paint with 
full color, to surround fact with its proper at- 
mosphere and to set it against its most telling 
background. Events are described so far as 
possible in their order of sequence, but it has 
seemed preferable to present them in subject 
completeness rather than in diary form. The 
history of Tripolitania has been practically 
eliminated from the body of the book, being 
condensed within a four -page " Historical 
Note." 

The native words introduced, are for the most 
part in common use among the few English and 
other foreigners, and are usually Arabic or local 

[ix] 



PREFACE 

vernacular modifications of it; throughout the 
most simplified spelling has been adhered to. 
Translation is in most cases parenthetically 
given with the first occurrence of a foreign word 
and also in the glossary, when a word is re- 
peated. 

Of that portion of the material which has al- 
ready been presented in magazine articles, the 
main part has appeared in Harper's Magazine; 
the remainder in The World's Worky The Out- 
look, and Appleton's Magazine. 

My sincere acknowledgments are due to 
my friend Mr. William F. Riley, of Tripoli, 
Consul for Norway and the Netherlands, who 
by his ever-helpful advice and untiring efforts 
rendered me invaluable service; to Mr. Alfred 
Dickson, then British Vice-Consul, for his 
timely help and interest; to the rest of that little 
coterie of kind friends in Tripoli who showed 
me every courtesy and attention during my 
sojourn there — Mr. Arthur Saunders, in charge 
of the cable station, M. Auguste Zolia, Chan- 
cellor of the Austro- Hungarian Consulate, and 
Mr. W. H. Venables; also to Redjed Pasha for 
numerous privileges and kind assistance; to 
the Greek naval officers and sailors stationed 

[x] 



PREFACE 

at Tripoli for generous aid in work over the 
wreck of the United States Frigate Philadel- 
phia — in particular to Captain Batsis, Dr. 
Georges Sphines, and Dr. St. Zografidis; to 
Mr. David Todd, Professor of Astronomy, Am- 
herst College, for letters; to Rabbi Mordecai 
Kohen, librarian of the synagogue, and to faith- 
ful black Salam who proved his worth in time 
of need. 

C. W. R 



[xi] 



4 



CONTENTS 

FAOB 

Historical Note xxiii 

A sketch of Tripolitania from prehistoric times to to- 
day. 

CHAPTER ONE 
Tripoli in Barbary 1 

Tripoli — Its political and geographical status — De- 
scription — Tripoli's seclusion from Mediterranean 
highways — Its coast-line — Tripolitania — Govern- 
ment — Location — Landing — Customs — ^Tragedy at 
well — Quarters — The Arbar-Arsat — Beggars — Oph- 
thalmia — Types — Native races of Tripoli — Foreign- 
ers — Religious classification — Picturesque aspects — 
Roman ruins — Arch of Marcus Aurelius — Population 
— Bazaars — ^Types — Visual impressions — Stealing 
camels — Superstition of the ''evil eye" — Fetiches — 
Turkish Club — The Castle — ^Tragedy of an escaped 
prisoner. 

CHAPTER TWO 

Town Scenes and Incidents 23 

View from Lokanda — Building construction — ^A flood 
— Night sounds — Wedding procession — ^A thief — 
The Mosque of the Steps — A romance — ^A night ad- 
venture — The country of thirst — Tripoli contrasts — 
Arab character — Islamism — An Arab house — ^Moor- 
ish women — Old silver — Turkish taxation and 
tithes — Tripolitan character. 

CHAPTER THREE 

Outside the Walls 38 



Agriculture — Yoke of taxation — Cultivable areas — 
Ancient customs — Soil, rain, and crops — Meaning of 
oasis — ^Method of irrigation — ^Tripoli from the desert 
[xiii] 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

— ^Date palms — Their value — ^Markets or suks — 
Transportation — Horses — Description of the Tues- 
day Market — A market crowd — A knife seller — 
Character of Arab merchants — ^An Arab sharper — 
Arab barbers — Fruit — Corn sellers — Butcher shops 
— ^A marabout — Coffee houses — A mental mirage — 
Two points of view. 

CHAPTER FOUR 

Salam, a Hausa Slave ......... 52 

Black nomads — Salam — Slave statistics — Hausaland — 
Hausas — Slavery — Slave rights — Slave traffic — 
Tribute-paying system — Freedom — Salam 's capture 
— Slave life — Gambling — Cowries — Gambling away 
freedom — Bashaws' persecution — Salam 's master 
resists Bashaw — Salam sold — Kano — ^Trade of Kano 
and Sudan — ^Tuaregs — Products of Kano — Slave car- 
avans — Kola nuts — Salam 's journey — A Tuareg 
fight — Kola nuts — Salam sold several times — His 
master Hadji Ahmed — Escapes to Ouragla — ^Tends 
camels — Second escape — Sufferings of the journey 
— Reach Ghadames — Sent to Tripoli — ^Arrival in 
Tripoli — Obtains freedom — Sala Heba — Hadji Ah- 
med again — Plan for Salam 's recapture — Scheme 
foiled — ^A Sudanese dance — ^A brush with Black 
fanatics — Salam's courage. 

CHAPTER FIVE 

The Masked Tuaregs 77 

The masked Tuaregs — ^Tuareg confederation — Tuareg 
territory — Character — ^Methods of brigandage — 
Dangers of the trails — Reprisals — Tuareg convoys 
— ^Adventure of two French officers — Tuaregs of 
white race — Religion — Character — ^Massacre of 
White Fathers — Flatters expedition — ^Marriage — 
Women — Social system — ^Tuareg slaves — First Tu- 
aregs seen — Tuareg costumes — ^Weapons — Shadow- 
ing — Unsuccessful attempt to photograph them — 
Asgar Tuaregs — Bartering — The Tuareg mask — 
The Sect of the Senusi — ^The telek and other Tuareg 
weapons — ^The Asgars again — ^The picture obtained, 
[xiv] 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER SIX 



PAOB 



The Discovery of the U. S. Frigate "Philadel- 
phia" 100 

The Mediterranean — Bashaws^ Castle — Grounding of 
U. S. Frigate Philadelphia — The surrender — ^The 
burning by Decatur — Local traditions — Jewish rec- 
ords found — Hadji-el-Ouachi — An Arab tradition 
— ^The old Arab's story — Old guns — Bushagour's 
houses — More specific results — Start to explore har- 
bor — Discovery of a vessePs ribs below water — The 
Philadelphia — Diving — Condition of the vessel — 
Second expedition with machine boats and sponge 
divers — Size, position, and location of wreck deter- 
mined — Third and last expedition — Sponge divers 
again — Parts brought to siu-face. 

CHAPTER SEVEN 

The Greek Sponge Divers 120 

Tripoli's three principal industries — Minor industries 
and resources — Tripoli Harbor — Commerce of Port 
of Tripoli — Casualties of one month — Quicksands 
and reefs — Barbary ports — Arab galleys — Exports 
— ^The sponge grounds — Some unpleasant facts — 
Treatment of Greek sponge divers — Greek hospi- 
tal staff — ^Methods of diving — Divers' paralysis — 
Theory concerning it — Cure — A fatal case — ^Aboard 
a sponge boat — Methods of fishing — A sponge fleet — 
Depth and time of diving — Diver and shark — Pre- 
paring for the season — Outfitting — Contract condi- 
tions — Pay — ^The day's work — Preparing for the de- 
scent — The descent — Obtaining sponges — Qualities 
— ^What the diver sees — ^Manner of ascent — ^Brutality 
practised — Preparation of sponges — Value — ^Bleach- 
ing — ^Night on a sponge boat — The end of the season. 

CHAPTER EIGHT 

The Esparto Pickers 145 

Esparto grass or halfa — Esparto regions — Esparto 
pickers — Description of grass — ^Wages — ^Methods of 
gathering — Dangers — Consequences — Loading cam- 

[XV] 



CONTENTS 

PAOB 

el8 — Haifa season — Transporting — Dangers en 
route — Importance of esparto trade — Its use — 
Amount exported — ^The Suk-el-Halfa — ^Methods of 
auctioning the scales — ^Methods of buying — ^Market 
values — ^Weighing — ^Ancient devices — ^Transferring 
to private suks — ^An accident — ^Black workers — ^A 
i sad scene — Qualities of esparto — Scorpions — Hy- 

draulic presses — ^Baling up — ^The day's work — Pay- 
ing off — ^The Black village — ^An incoming steamer 
— Exportation of halfa — ^American shipping — Pre- 
paring halfa for shipment — ^Manner of shipping — 
Disasters — ^Thieving propensities of stevedores — ^A 
dire instance — Relative importance of trade — ^A 
summing up — Its other uses. 

CHAPTER NINE 

The Caravan Trade 173 

The gateway to the Sahara — ^The Sahara — ^Area — Popu- 
lation — ^The trade routes — Ghadames — ^The Caravan 
trade — ^Tripoli merchants — Profits and losses — Cara- 
vans — Sudanese marts — ^The voyage — Cargoes — 
Camels used — Caravan sheiks — ^The firman — Priv- 
ilege for an Occidental to travel — Securing a drago- 
man — Outfitting — ^The horse-trader — Starting with 
a caravan — ^Meeting the caravan sheik — ^Mohammed 
Ga-wah-je — ^Through the oasis — ^A caravan on the 
march at night — ^A stop at Fonduk-el-Tajura — 
Fonduks described — ^The caravan at rest — ^The day's 
fare — Night in the f onduk — ^The start — Early morn- 
ing — ^The desert — Caravan trails — ^The warm rains 
— ^Wells — ^Manner of travelling — ^The midday rest — 
Uses and abuses of the baracan — Passing caravans. 

CHAPTER TEN 

Desert Incidents 193 

Bedawi — Manner of life — Occupations — Women 
— ^Appearances — Labor — Social system — ^A home- 
ward-bound caravan — Its merchandise — ^A high 
temperature — ^Monotony of travel — Fascination of 
little things — Caravaneers — Desert thieves — ^The 
sand-storm — Murzuk — Slaves — ^The Sect of the Se- 
nusi — ^A bit of deception — ^A camp in a garden — 
[xvi] 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Night marauders — ^The old caravaneer's story — A 
caravan attacked — Value of goods lost — Tripoli's 
caravan trade diminishing. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Camel Trails 208 

Acquaintance with the camel — An epitome of the 
desert — His history — Kinds of camels — Bargaining 
— Breeds of camels — ^Meaning of dromedary — Rid- 
ing a baggager — Driving a camel — Camels in market 
— Feeding — ^The camel market — Breeding places — 
Camel raisers — Buying a camel — Biters — Means of 
defence and attack — Character — Camel doctor — 
Passing in a narrow way — A mehari or riding camel 
— Comparison with draft camel — Manner of riding 
— Equipment — ^Travelling ability of mehara — Dis- 
mounting — Closer acquaintance with the camel — 
Physical characteristics — Hallil and his white nakat 
(she camel) — Drinking — ^Adjustment of loads — 
Saddles — Camel's adaptation to environment— 7 
Desert songs — Camel lore — ^A black camel — Manner 
of driving camels — Punishment — Mortality — Dan- 
gers of bad ground — Old Bakri and his blind camel 
— ^A earners last days. 

CHAPTER TWELVE 

A Night's Ride with Arab Bandits .... 234 

Desert travelling — People met with — Consideration of 
diet — Clothes — Camping outfit — Obtaining food — 
Birds — Bedawi — Boundary marks — Hard travel- 
ling — ^Muraiche suspected — ^Arrival at Khoms — 
The burden of the trail — ^Audience with Governor — 
Visit Roman ruins — A Roman harbor — Grounds for 
suspicion — ^Men mutiny — Start for Kussabat delayed 
— Good advice — A late start — View of E^oms — 
Guard imwelcome — Leadership decided — Night 
schemes — Apprehensions — Small caravan passed — 
Followed by thieves — Attempt to ambush — Strat- 
egy necessary — Use Muraiche as screen — Ali tries to 
rim — Mohammed attempts to strike — Reached Kus- 
sabat — Sleep on a fonduk roof — The reason for 
treachery — Guard leaves — Journey continued — a 
brief rest — ^A night's sleep, 
[xvii] 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

PAGE 

A Desert Episode 263 

A desert fortress — Suspected — ^A desert hostelry — 
Native curiosity — A Turkish officer — Cross examina- 
tion — Firman demanded — Officer intrudes — ^An un- 
welcome invitation — ^An Arabian night — ^The Turk 
returns — ^Attempts force — Remain at lokanda — 
Lokanda locked for the night — Go outside — Lo- 
kanda imder surveillance — Awakened by soldier — 
Officer appears — ^Accompanies us — Later sends 
soldiers — Fast travelling — ^The guards tire — Guards 
eluded — ^Accosted by Zabtie — Reach Tripoli — See 
Pasha. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

The Desert 279 

The call of the desert — Its area — Character — Desert 
races — Water — Wells — Sand formations — Sand- 
storms — Passing caravans — ^Desert as a highway — 
Ancient peoples — Economic possibilities — Economic 
value of desert — Past and present — ^A desert theory 
— Sudan encroaching — ^A desert night — ^Tripoli to- 
day and to-morrow. 

Glossary 299 

Index 303 



[xviii] 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

The Arhar-Arsat, {In color) Frontispiece 

Facing page 

The end of the great caravan route from the Sudan as 

it enters Tripoli 8 

"In the heart of Tripoli stands . . . the Arch of 

Marcus Aurelius'' 14 

"-4 barefooted baker moulds coarse dough into 

. . . rounded loaves'' 18 

The result of the flood 24 

Rows of shops by tJie Market Gate^ where the caravans 

''outfit'' 32 

Cap sellers in the shadow of the Mosque ofSidi Hamet 36 

Road through the Oasis of Tripoli 42 

A primitive method of transportation 46 

Market outside Tripoli's walls, castle and cemetery on 

the right 50 

Salam, the Hausa 54 

A Hausa Bashaw. {In color) 60 

Sudanese blacks announcing a religious dance . . 70 

" We came into full view of a barbaric Sudanese dance " 74 

A raiding band of Tuareg serfs 88 

[xix] 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing page 

" From the near side of a camel , I took the picture " . . 98 

^^We came to a heap of . , . rvM-eaten cannon^* . • 106 

Machine-boat and diver from Greek Navy at work 

over the ''Philadelphia'' 114 

*' The bag of dark, heavy sponges . . . was hauled 

aboard'' 134 

A deposit boat 142 

Weighing esparto grass in the Suk-el-Halfa, (In 

color) 156 

''Strode avjay with the bier of their tribesman" . . 162 

A black sheik 170 

Fonduk-el-Tajura 184 

Trade caravan resting in the heat of the day . . . 192 

"A homeward-bound garfla suddenly loomed up be- 
fore us" 198 

Muraiche and men descending a desert defile . . . 204 

A camel pasture 216 

« Mehara feeding from a stone manger 228 

" The afterglow . . . against which moved the dark 

shapes of horses and men" 248 

"The guard left us the next morning" 260 

"His . . . hand shot out and seized me strongly by 

the wrist" 270 

"We gave the animals full rein and dashed down the 

ravine" 276 

[XX] 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing page 

A Bedaween caravan on the march, with a sandstorm 

approaching, {In color) 282 

''Like fossilized waves of the sea, . . . crossing 

. . . each other in endless monotony'' .... 288 

'' Rolling dunes of sand . . . take on shapes weird and 

picturesque'' 294 / 



MAPS 

Page 

Map of Northern Africa, showing present political 

divisions and principal caravan routes ... 3 

Map of the town and harbor of Tripoli 118 

Map of Tripolitania 174 



[xxi] 



HISTORICAL NOTE 

A SKETCH OF TRIPOLITANIA FROM PRE-HISTORIC 
TIMES TO TO-DAY 

Twelve centuries before Christ, Phoenician 
traders had worked their way along the southern 
shores of the Mediterranean and up its oleander- 
fringed fivers, until their galley keels grated on 
the fertile shores of Lybia [Tunisia]. Here 
hordes of armed warriors, swarming ashore, 
planted their standards high above the fragrant 
broom which covered the golden hillsides, and 
as centuries rolled by, Outili [Utica] and other 
cities were reared, among them Carthage. 

At the close of the Third Punic War, Carthage 
lay in ruins and the whole coast territory of 
Africa, from the Pyramids to the Pillars of 
Hercules, became subject to the Romans, and 
the territory we now know as Tripolitania, a 
province of the Caesars. 

Three cities, Leptis, Sabrata, and Oea, an- 
ciently constituted a federal union known as 

[xxiii] 



HISTORICAL NOTE 

Tripolis, while the district governed by their 
Concilium Annum was called Lybia Tripoli- 
tania. On the site of Oea modern Tripoli, in 
Barbary, now stands. Tripolis suffered the 
varying fortunes of a Roman African colony, 
the yoke weighing heaviest under Count Ro- 
manus in the reign of Valentinium, A. D. 364. 
Then came the sacking by the Austerians and 
wild native tribes from the deserts, encouraged 
by the policy of Genseric, the invading Vandal 
king. 

Before the reign of Constans II, 641-668, we 
find the name, wealth, and inhabitants of the 
province gradually centred in Oea, the mari- 
time capital of Tripolis; 647 A. D. saw the 
beginning of the great Arab invasion, which, 
gathering force, sent the resistless tidal wave of 
the Jehad [Holy' War] sweeping across Barbary. 
It broke down what was left of Roman rule, 
merged the wild Berber aborigines into the great 
sea of Islam, inundated Spain, flooded even to 
the gates of Poitiers before it was checked, 
then, slowly receding, finally found its level 
south of the Straits of Gibraltar and the Middle 
Sea. 

Since that remote past the flags of various 

[xxiv] 



HISTORICAL NOTE 

nations of the Cross have for brief periods flung 
their folds in victory over this Moslem strong- 
hold. When the caravels of Charles V, of 
Spain, were making conquests in Mexico and 
Peru, that monarch presented Tripoli and 
Malta to the Knights of St. John on their ex- 
pulsion from Rhodes by the Turkish Sultan, 
Soliman the Magnificent. Later, in the six- 
teenth century, Soliman drove them from Trip- 
oli and received the submission of the Barbary 
States. 

In 1714 the Arabs of Tripoli gained inde- 
pendence from their Turkish rulers and for 
over a century were governed by their own 
bashaws. 

In 1801, on account of the unbearable piracy 
of the Tripolitans, war was declared between 
Tripoli and the United States. In 1804, but 
for the blocking by our government of the 
scheme and land expedition of General William 
Eaton when Tripoli was within his grasp, the 
sixteen-starred banner of the United States, too, 
would undoubtedly for a time have supplanted 
the Flag of the Prophet. Thus, not only would 
the imprisoned crew of the Philadelphia in 
Tripoli have been freed, but our shame as a 

[xxv] 



HISTORICAL NOTE 

tribute-paying nation to the Barbary States 
mitigated. Peace was concluded in 1805. 

Thirty years later Tripoli again came under 
Turkish rule, since which time the crescent 
flag of the Ottoman has waved there undisturbed 
and Tripoli has continued to steep herself in 
the spirit of Islam, indifferent and insensible 
to the changes of the outer world. 



THE GATEWAY TO THE 
SAHARA 

CHAPTER ONE 

TRIPOLI IN BARBARY 

BRITAIN holds Egypt, France has seized 
Algeria and Tunisia with one hand and is 
about to grasp Morocco with the other, but 
Tripolitania has escaped the international grab- 
bag of Europe and still dwells native and seques- 
tered among the great solitudes which surround 
her. Tucked away in a pocket of the Mediter- 
ranean, five hundred miles from the main high- 
ways of sea travel, transformed and magnified 
under the magic sunlight of Africa, Tripoli,* the 
white-burnoosed city, lies in an oasis on the edge 
of the desert, dipping her feet in the swash and 
ripple of the sea. 

I first saw her through my cabin port-hole 
when, gray-silvered, the half light of dawn 

* The name Tripoli is applied to both the Pashalic of Tripoli and 
the city, and occasionally to Tripolitania, the territory. 

[1] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

slowly filtered through the tardy night mists and 
mingled with the rose flush of approaching day. 
Two silver moons dimly floated, one in a gray 
silver sky, the other in a gray silver sea. A strip 
of shore streaked between; in gray stencilled 
silhouette a Moorish castle broke the centre of 
its sky-line ; slender minarets, flat housetops, and 
heavy battlements flanked in a crescent west- 
ward, and the delicate palm fringe of the oasis 
dimmed away east. The adan — call to prayer — 
drifted away over the sleeping city and harbor. 
The gilded crescents of the green-topped min- 
arets in glints of orange-gold heliographed the 
coming of the rising sun: the shadows of night 
seemed to sink below the ground-line, and the 
white-walled city lay shimmering through a 
transparent screen of wriggling heat-waves. 

The coast of North Africa from Tunis east- 
ward does not meet the converging water routes 
short of its eastern extremity at Suez. Along 
the seaboard of this territory the Mediterranean 
laps the desert sand and over the unbounded 
sun-scorched reaches of Tripoli and Barca, to 
the border-land of Egypt, wild tribes control the 
vast wastes. 

The great territory of Tripolitania embraces 

[2] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

what is known as the vilayet of Tripoli, the 
Fezzan to the south, and the province of Barca 
on the east, governed as an integral part of Tur- 
key. The Pashalic of Tripoli includes that por- 
tion of the vilayet extending from Tunisia to the 
southernmost point of the Gulf of Sidra. Of all 
Barbary,^ Tripolitania is most truly African. 

It is situated equally distant from the three 
entrances of the Mediterranean and is the focus 
of the three great caravan routes from the South. 
Tripoli's freedom from European occupation 
may be attributed to three causes: her isolation 
from the main highways of commerce, the ap- 
parent sterility of her desert plateaus as com- 
pared with the more fertile Atlas regions of the 
other Barbary states, and the fact that she is a 
vilayet of the Turkish Empire. 

The anchor chain rattled through the hawse- 
pipe of the S. S. Adria. Her nose swung slowly 
into the wind, a soft south wind laden with all 
those subtle and mysterious influences of that 
strange land, tempting one on against its gentle 
pressure, as though to lure him far back into 
those desert reaches from whence it came. 

^Barbary (Berbery) included the four states — Morocco, Algeria, 
Tunisia, and Tripolitania. 

[4] 



TRIPOLI IN BARBARY 

A knock at the door of my cabin, and a short, 
wiry Englishman looked out from beneath a 
broad panama which shaded his keen, laughing 
eyes. 

He extended his hand. ''I'm William Riley; 
our friend's letters reached me and I've just 
come aboard ; but I say, bustle up, if you want 
to get through with those Turks at the Custom- 
House. Perhaps I can help you," and he did as 
soon as I mentioned certain articles in my outfit. 

"It might go badly with either of us if we 
sit down too hard on this ammunition," he 
remarked, glancing at the bagging seat of my 
trousers, as we stepped upon the stone customs' 
quay from the Arab galley which brought us 
ashore. 

My viseed passport was sent to Redjed Pasha,* 
the Turkish Military Governor. The customs 
passed, two Arabs with my luggage followed in 
our wake up the narrow streets of one of the 
most Oriental coast towns of North Africa — 
Tripoli, the Gateway to the Sahara. 

As we left the Custom-House, Mr. Riley 
pointed to a well curb on our right. '' A few days 
ago a Greek merchant engaged some men to 

* Pasha is Turkish, Bashaw Arabic, for chief, Bey or Governor. 

[5] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

clean out that well, which for years has been a 
receptacle for refuse of all kinds. The first Arab 
to go down was overcome at the bottom by 
poisonous gases; a second descended to assist 
him and was overcome; likewise a third, a 
fourth, a fifth. More would have followed had 
not the crowd prevented. All five lost their 
lives, the last one dying yesterday. The Greek 
merchant who engaged them was thrown into 
prison and fined twenty naps [napoleons] because, 
as the Turkish oflScials charged, the men would 
not have died had he not asked them to go down." 

During my stay within the bastioned walls of 
Tripoli, my quarters were in a lokanda [hostelry] 
kept by an Italian family. This characteristic 
Arab house, with its plain-walled exterior and 
open square inner court designed to capture as 
little heat and as much light as possible, was on 
the Arhar-Arsat [Street of the Four Columns]. 
No one ever brags of the wideness of Arab 
streets, and despite the fact that the Arbar-Arsat 
was a Tripoline boulevard, from necessity rather 
than from choice I often discreetly retreated to 
a doorway or side street from an oncoming widely 
burdened camel. 

The Arbar-Arsat became my friend and chron- 

[6] 



TRIPOLI IN BARBARY 

icier. Through the busy hum and drone of 
passers-by at morning and evening-tide, through 
the hot quiet of siesta time and cool stillness of 
night, there drifted up to my window the story 
of the life of a picturesque people, replete in the 
ever-varying romance and bright imagery of the 
East. 

Daily under my window a Black mother 
ensconced herself in the doorway with her child, 
where she crooned a mournful appeal to passers- 
by. Alms are often given these town beggars by 
their more fortunate brothers, for says the 
Koran, **it is right so to do.'' The following, 
however, may illustrate an interesting but not 
uncommon exception to the rule: 

"In the name of Allah give alms," wailed a 
beggar to a richly dressed Moor who was walking 
ahead of me. 

"May Allah satisfy all thy wants," replied the 
wealthy one and passed on. The wealthy one 
once picked up bones for a living. 

The percentage of these beggars and other 
natives troubled with ophthalmia is very great in 
Tripoli, as in many Oriental cities, due in part 
to the fierce sun glare and the fine desert sand 
blown by the gibli [desert wind], but mainly to 

17] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

the flies. So it is not surprising that many of 
these people become blind through sheer igno- 
rance and lethargy. But then — ^AUah wills ! 

Tripoli bestirs herself early. A few steps 
down the Arbar-Arsat, my friend Hamet, a seller 
of fruits and vegetables, and his neighbor, the 
one-eyed dealer in goods from the Sudan, take 
down the shutters from two holes in the walls, 
spread their stock, and, after the manner of all 
good Mohammedans, proclaim in the name of 
the Prophet that their wares are excellent. The 
majority of those who drift along the Arbar-Arsat 
are of the four great native races of Tripoli: 
Berbers, descendants of the original inhabitants; 
Arabs, progeny of those conquerors who overran 
the country centuries ago; the native Jew; and 
lastly, itinerant Blacks who migrate from the 
South. 

The Berbers, like the Arabs, are a white-race 
people whose countless hordes centuries ago 
flooded over Northern Africa, coming from no 
one knows where. That one by Hamet's shop 
stops to examine some figs. His baracan, the 
prevailing outer garment of Tripolitans,^ has 

*"Tripolitan8" signifies the people of the territory, "Tripoline" 
a dweller in the town of Tripoli. 

[8] 




o 

Dm 









G 
a; 



TRIPOLI IN BARBARY 

slipped from his head, which is closely shaved, 
save for one thick lock of hair just back of the 
top. Abu Hanifah, the seer, so goes the story, 
advocated this lock of hair, that in battle the 
impure hands of the infidel might not defile the 
decapitated Moslem mouth or beard. 

Whatever their station in life, in appearance 
and bearing the Arabs of to-day are worthy sons 
of their forbears, who forced kings of Europe to 
tremble for their thrones and caused her scholars 
to bow in reverence to a culture and learning at 
that time unknown to the barbarians of the 
North. 

Look at the swarthy Hamet in full trousers 
and shirt of white cotton, squatting in the shadow 
of his shop awning. As he rises to greet a richly 
dressed Moor, Sala Heba, the slave dealer, each 
places his right hand in turn on his heart, lips, and 
forehead, thus through the temenah [greeting], 
saying, ''Thou hast a place in my heart, on my 
lips, and thou art always in my thoughts.'" Had 
these two Arabs exchanged the cotton garments 
and the gold-threaded turban, scarlet haik, and 
yellow embroidered slippers, neither would have 
lost his superb dignity, for either could well have 
graced the divan of a Bashaw. 

[9] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

The Blacks, mostly nomadic and fewest in 
numbers, come from the South to escape the crack 
of the slave whip or migrate in small tribes from 
the Sudan. At no great distance from Tripoli, 
under the shadow of the palm groves of the oasis, 
a tribe of Hausas have erected their palm- 
thatched zerebas. Within this village they have 
their chief and laws after the manner of the na- 
tive life of the interior. 

Many of these Blacks are caravan men, but 
find employment in and about the town. Often 
along the Arbar-Arsat I have watched these 
powerful fellows carry to and from the town 
wharves and fonduks [caravansaries] heavy loads 
of merchandise suspended on long poles slung 
across their shoulders. Some of them showed great 
calf muscles playing under deep-grooved scars 
like those which slashed their cheeks and tem- 
ples — brands either of their tribe or of servitude. 

Last but not least, however, is the native Jew. 
In every town of Barbary where the Arab tol- 
erates him there in the Mellah [Jewish quarter] 
he is found. Never seeming to belong there, yet 
omnipresent from the earliest times, he has man- 
aged not only to exist beside his Arab neighbors, 
but has thriven. 

[10] 



TRIPOLI IN BARBARY 

First and most important of the intrusive 
foreign element are the Turkish military and 
merchants whose commander-in-chief rules as 
Pasha of the vilayet of Tripoli. He is in com- 
mand of the twenty thousand troops who exer- 
cise general surveillance over the towns and 
districts where they are stationed. It is the duty 
of these scantily clad and poorly paid Ottomans 
to assist in collecting taxes from the poverty- 
stricken Arabs, to protect caravans along the 
coast routes, and enforce Turkish administration 
in a few leading towns and their vicinities. 

Next in numbers are the several hundred 
Italians and a Maltese colony of fisher-folk who 
live near the Lazaretto [Quarantine] by the sea. 
Members of the foreign consulates and a few 
other Europeans complete the population. 

In Tripoli the religious classification of Mos- 
lem, Jew, and Christian is most emphasized 
perhaps by their three respective holidays, Fri- 
day, Saturday, and Sunday. From the Western 
point of view this interferes somewhat with trade, 
but is not felt by those who would regard life as 
one long siesta. The extent to which even 
pleasurable effort is disapproved among Mo- 
hammedans is shown by the Pasha's reply when 

[11] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

asked to join in the dancing at one of the consu- 
late affairs. "Why should I dance/' replied his 
Excellency, "when I can have some one to dance 
for me ?" The same reason was offered by a high 
official for his inability to read and write. 

As one wanders through the maze of narrow 
streets the unexpected constantly delights. Every 
turn presents a new picture or creates a fresh 
interest and the commonplace is full of artistic 
possibilities. One soon overlooks the refuse and 
other things objectionable in the compelling 
sense of the picturesque. Wandering among 
Tripoli's sacred mosques and bazaars, losing one's 
self in the romantic maze of a thousand and one 
legends, one's mind is satiated with a cloying 
surfeit of perfumed romance. It is as difficult to 
select from this illusive whole as to tell at what 
hour is the supreme moment in which to see her 
— ^when the dew-bejewelled oasis, through which 
crawls some slow-moving caravan, lies violet- 
colored in the early morning; when in the heat 
of the day, sun-scorched, every spot of color 
stands out like the particles of a kaleidoscope; 
at sunset, when desert and city are bathed in 
rose; or in the still night when, blue pervaded, 
she rests hushed and ghostlike on the edge 

[12] 



TRIPOLI IN.BARBARY 

of the silent desert, the golden crescents of her 
mosques turned to silver and mingling with the 
stars. 

Evidences of the Roman occupation confront 
one on every hand. Columns of a Pagan Rome 
support the beautiful domed vaultings of some 
of the mosques or are set in as corner posts to the 
houses at every other turn, and the drums thrown 
lengthwise and chiselled flat are used as steps 
or door-sills. Beyond the walls of the town 
fragments of tessellated pavement laid down two 
thousand years ago are occasionally found. Two 
Roman tombs decorated with mural paintings 
were recently discovered about a mile or so from 
the city. Unfortunately I was too late to see 
these, as the Turkish authorities at once ordered 
the places filled in and the spot was soon ob- 
literated by the shifting sand. At one end of the 
Arbar-Arsat, in the very heart of Tripoli, stands 
what once must have been one of the most splen- 
did triumphal arches of antiquity. It is known 
to the Moors as the Old Arch ; to the Europeans, 
as the Arch of Marcus Aurelius, in whose honor 
it was erected A. D. 164. 

What seems to have been the rear of this 
triumphal arch now fronts the street, while its 

[13] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

front overlooks a wall, below which some pigs 
root and grunt about in the mire. Much to 
the interest of a few pedestrians, I climbed the 
wall and photographed the sadly obliterated 
inscription — an almost inaudible whisper of the 
past. Later, inscribed on the faded leaves of 
an old album, ^ I ran across a record of this 
inscription made over half a century ago. It 
read : 

IMP . CMS . AVRELIO . ANTONIN . AVG . P.P.ET , 
IMP. . CiES . L. . AVRELIO . VERO. . AMENIACO . AVQ . 
SER . — S. ORFITUS . PROCCOS . CVM . VTTEDIO . 
MARCELLO . LEG . SVO. . DEDICAVIT . C . CALPVRNIVS . 
CELSVS . CVRATOR . MVNERIS . PVB . MVNEPARIVS . 
IIVIR . Q . Q . FLAMEN . PERPTVVS. . ARCV . 
MARMORE . SOLIDO . FECIT 

The arch appears low and heavy, which is 
not surprising, considering that it is half buried 
beneath centuries of accumulated rubbish and 
wind-blown desert sand. Partly mortared up, it 
now serves as a shop for a purveyor of dried 
fish, spices, and other wares. Once I entered its 
interior to outfit for a caravan journey; many 
other times I visited it to admire in the dim light 

* Album in possession of M. A. Zolia, with dates about 1844. It 
formerly belonged to Dr. Robert G. Dickson of Tripoli uncle of 
Mr. Alfred Dickson, Acting British Consul in 1904, 

[14] 




'* In the heart of TripoH stands . . . the Arch of Marcus Aurehus " 



TRIPOLI IN BARBARY 

its beautiful sculptured ceiling and the weather- 
worn decorations of its exterior. 

Through these narrow, fascinating streets of 
Tripoli her thirty thousand inhabitants go 
to their tasks and pleasures. Between series of 
arches, which serve the double purpose of re-en- 
forcing the walls and giving shade, awnings are 
stretched here and there. Under these and in 
little booths all the industries necessary to the 
subsistence of the town are carried on. 

At every hand one seems to be enclosed by one 
or two storied houses, whose bare walls with few 
windows and heavily made doors give little sug- 
gestion of the beauties of color and craftsman- 
ship those of the better class may contain. On 
either side of the streets, particularly in the 
bazaar quarter, are little hole-in-the-wall shops, 
as though their owners had burrowed into the 
walls of the houses, and there, half hidden among 
their goods, cross-legged they squat, these mer- 
chants of the drowsy East, fanning flies and 
waiting for trade. 

Their wares stand out in brilliant display of 
burnished brass, copper trays, hanging lamps, 
silver-mounted ebony snuffboxes, and flint-lock 
guns, handsomely worked saddle-bags and leather 

[15L 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

money pouches heavily embroidered and of Kano 
dye. In the quiet shadows of long arcades, men 
pass noiselessly in slippered feet over carpets 
and rugs from Kairwan, Misurata, and the 
farther East. Out in the sunlit streets a few Eu- 
ropeans mix with the native populace. Conspic- 
uous among them are heavily turbaned Moors^ 
in fine-textured burnoose and richly broidered 
vests, in strong contrast with camel men from the 
desert, muffled in coarse gray baracans. Then 
there are the blind beggars, water-carriers, and 
occasionally a marabout [holy man], who, like St. 
John of old, dresses in raiment of cameFs hair. 

The whole moving mass was like a great con- 
fetti-covered stream, here pausing, there swirling 
and eddying, but ever flowing between banks and 
islands of brilliantly colored booths with their 
shimmering Oriental wares. Rising above it all, 
caravans of camels forged quietly along with soft 
and dignified tread. 

To the casual Occidental observer, undoubt- 
edly the visual impressions are paramount. For 
the atmospheric color in its semi-tropical bril- 
liancy serves to make more effective and lumi- 

*The term "Moor" is a class more than a race distinction. It 
signifies a native town dweller and is used throughout Barbary, 

[16] 



TRIPOLI IN BARBARY 

nous the variegated detail of local color — of 
people, houses, mosques, and bazaars. But to 
one to whom it is a prism through which he 
views Moorish thought and character in deeper 
relationship, it has a far-reaching symbolism — 
the all-pervading influence of Islam. 

Spanning the street of the Suk-el- Turc [Turks* 
Market] is a trellis-work covered with grape- 
vines. Through their green leaves and clusters 
of purple fruit great splashes of sunlight fall on 
drowsy Moors. Here most of the oflBcial busi- 
ness is transacted, and notaries as well as other 
public officials have their offices. Near by is 
the principal mosque, and in the light transparent 
shadow of its arcade sit the sellers of caps. The 
bright glare of the sunlight makes it difficult to 
see into many of the shops, but at the sound of a 
shuttle one may pause a moment and see an 
Arab weaving on his loom fabrics of the finest 
quality and intricate design. Near by in an 
opening » blackened with smoke a barefooted 
baker moulds coarse dough into flat, rounded 
loaves. 

Down the street the faint intermittent tinkling 
of a bell is heard. '' Bur-r-ro!'' [Get out!] in 
warning rasps the high-pitched voice of a camel 

[17] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

driver. I dodged quickly into the shop of a 
silversmith and watched four lumbering camels 
squdge softly by. To prevent those behind the 
driver from being stolen, the halter rope of each 
was tied to the tail of the one ahead, and on the 
tail of the last camel, as he flipped and flapped 
it from side to side tinkled a bell. 

A wily one of the Faithful, not being rich in 
this world's goods, turned covetous eyes on a 
nomadic brother who passed through the town 
leading a string of six camels. "Allah! Allah 
ursel el Allah! Could not the brother spare one 
of his jamal?^^ [camels]. So, dusting the flies 
from his eyes and hooding himself with his 
baracan, he stealthily followed. He was aware 
that near the New Gate the street narrowed and 
made a double turn. No sooner had the driver 
and head camel rounded the first corner than the 
wily one seized the bell attached to the hindmost 
camel. With a stroke of his knife he severed it 
from the tail of the animal, and keeping it 
tinkling, quickly fastened it to the tail of the 
next, cut loose the last beast, and — "Allah wills^'* 
—made off with his prize. 

Probably no superstition has a stronger, more 
universal hold on the Mohammedan than his 

[18] 




0) 

o 



5 
o 



O 



;3 
o 



o 
o 



TRIPOLI IN BARBARY 

belief that one may cast upon him the influence 
of the *'evil eye." Let a stranger, particularly 
one not a Moslem, look intently on anything 
worn or carried on the person of an Arab, and 
he will straightway, to nullify the spell, wet his 
fingers and pass them over the object upon which 
the stranger's gaze is cast. Inquire after the 
health of his wife, or seek to flatter him, and he 
raises a protecting hand to his face. Fetishes in 
the images of hands are seen among the orna- 
ments worn about the persons of the women, 
symbolized in the decorations of utensils, and 
occasionally on the exterior of their mosques. 
Over many an arched portal is the impression of 
a black hand print to protect its inmates. A 
number of times a door left accidentally ajar has 
been slammed to as I passed, on account of the 
influence which my "evil eye'' might have upon 
the occupants. 

Flanking Tripoli on the east is the ancient 
Castle of the Bashaws. Under its walls and 
bordering the sea lies the garden of the Turkish 
Army and Navy Club [known as the Cafe], which 
in the cool of the day is the social rendezvous of 
the foreign element of Tripoli. When the sap- 
phire-blue shadow of the great castle wall had 

[19] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

thrown itself across the garden and crept its way 
over the sandy stretch of the Tuesday Market 
beyond, and the distant Arab houses sewed a 
golden thread across the dusk shadows of the 
coming twilight, together with the little coterie 
of English residents and other friends, the end of 
the day was invariably spent about one of its 
tables. Here, over our Turkish coffee, masticay 
and lakoom, the latest news would be discussed; 
a recently arrived caravan, the latest edict of 
the Pasha, anything from the arrival of Turkish 
exiles to the Thames boat-race or London and 
Paris quotations on ivory and feathers. 

I found out some time after my arrival that I 
was the first American to visit Tripoli for two 
years. The sudden alighting in their midst of 
a stranger had set going at full pressure their 
speculative machinery, and for a time I was 
regarded as a spy. 

One evening at the Turkish Club we turned 
our attention from the praying figures of the 
Moslems in a near-by cemetery to an incoming 
steamer. Then the conversation drifted, like the 
lazy wreaths of the cigarette smoke, to the ancient 
Castle of the Bashaws, which flanks the city on 
the east. Within its ramparts is a little village, 

[20] 



TRIPOLI IN BARBARY 

and could its old walls speak, they could tell 
tales of intrigue, romance, and bloodshed in- 
numerable. I had been through the prisons and 
barracks for which it is now used, and had talked 
with some of the prisoners. One was a Turkish 
exile, a man of education, who for political rea- 
sons had sacrificed his freedom for his convic- 
tions, and considered himself lucky to have 
escaped being sent far south to Murzuk with its 
sense-robbing climate. 

''Do you see that spot in the wall, close to the 
ground and under that corner bastion ?" said my 
friend Riley, pointing to where a small hole had 
apparently been bricked up. ''Well, one after- 
noon, I was passing here from the Suk [market] 
when a ragged, unkempt fellow appeared in the 
caravan road there, acting most strangely. He 
seemed afraid to walk erect, and, though in broad 
daylight, groped his way about in a most uncanny 
manner. A crowd collected. Turkish guards 
soon appeared and conducted him back to the 
Castle from which he had come. Yes, through 
that stoned-up hole. You see the poor beggar 
had been in there for years, down in one of the 
dungeons below the ground. He had been there 
so long that no one remembered who he was or 

[21] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

for what he had been imprisoned ; but somehow 
he managed to secure a hard instrument and dig 
his way out. Had he reached the outside at this 
time of day or at night, he might have escaped. 
Why didn't he ? Coming from the darkness, he 
found himself blinded by the strong sunlight, and 
the heavy iron shackles on his feet gave him 
away. Unless he is dead, perhaps the poor 
wretch is there now, only a few yards from us — 
but on the other side of the wall.'' Riley knocked 
the ashes from his cigarette and looked thought- 
fully at the Adria steaming in with the weekly 
mail. 



[22] 



CHAPTER TWO 

TOWN SCENES AND INCIDENTS 

FROM the top of my lokanda I could look 
over the dazzling, whitewashed, color- 
tinted city, a great sea of flat housetops broken 
only by several minarets, an occasional palm- 
tree, the castle battlements, and the flag-staffs of 
the European Consulates. The mosques, the 
city walls, and some of the more important build- 
ings are built of huge blocks of stone, but on the 
whole it is a city of sun-dried bricks, rafters of 
palm- wood, and whitewash. This material serves 
its purpose well in a country of heat and little 
rain, but permitted of a unique catastrophe in 
February, 1904. 

Some miles back of the town in the low desert 
foot-hills, owing to a cloud-burst, a great body 
of water was accumulated in a natural reservoir. 
Suddenly it burst, flooded across the country 
without warning, and on a bright clear day swept 
through the oasis and town of Tripoli, gullying 

[23] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

its way to the sea. Sweeping around the bases 
of the houses, the sun-dried bricks at their 
foundations disintegrated like melting snow, the 
walls collapsed, and some eighty people perished. 
For almost a day it cut off traffic along the main 
caravan road as it led into Tripoli. Great 
crowds gathered along its banks and on the roofs 
of the neighboring houses. The next day 
muffled figures searched amongst the debris in 
the gully for their lost ones and property. 

Often under the blue-green of African nights 
I would sit in my window, whose broad stone 
ledge still held the heat of the departed day, and 
listen in undisturbed reverie to the night sounds 
of the Arab city, sounds among which the rumble 
ofj traffic was conspicuously absent, sounds 
which took on a personal element — the soft 
scuff of feet; the prayer calls of Muezzins; far- 
off cries, voices of an almost forgotten people. 
From under the palms far out beyond the town, 
the hoarse bark of a wolf-hound drifts in, as 
patrolling the mud walls of his master's gardens 
he warns away marauders. Though early even- 
ing, the Arbar-Arsat is almost deserted. A low, 
sustained whistle, then down in the dark shadow 
a dusky figure moves noiselessly by. Soon 

[24] 




73 ^ 
o ^ 






TOWN SCENES AND INCIDENTS 

another whistle from the direction in which he 
has gone, and I know a second night watchman 
has passed him along. Thus to a certain extent 
does Tripoli protect or watch her inhabitants, 
who for good or ill may have occasion to trace 
their way at night through her dangerous, tor- 
tuous streets. 

Drifting over the housetops come wavering 
pulsations of sound. Then from some distant 
quarter they take form, and the wild beat of the 
tom-toms, strangely suggestive of the great ele- 
mental nature, heat, and passion of the drowsy 
and fanatical East, throbs its way nearer and 
nearer through the maze of dark and deserted 
streets. Now the long-sustained or rippling res- 
onant notes of the oboes and thrumming gim- 
brehs are discernible. ''Lu-lu-lu-lu!" ring out 
the shrill voices of women; clash! go the steel 
cymbals, and a wedding procession turns into the 
Arbar-Arsat. 

A yelling runner on ahead passes under my 
window, then in irregular march the procession 
itself. First, bearers of lanterns of colored glass 
which throw beautiful prismatic lights on the 
white-walled houses and illumine the swarthy 
faces of the musicians who follow them; then 

[25] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

more lanterns, diffusing the darkness, glinting in 
scintillating reflections from the men's eyes, and 
throwing great slashes of mellow light down upon 
the heads and shoulders of the muflBed forms of 
the women. In their midst, seated on a donkey, 
rides the bride, hidden from view under a palan- 
quin [canopy]. Again follow lanterns illuminating 
the dark canopy, etching out the red gold threads 
of the heavy embroidery from its dark, velvety 
background. 

Just beyond my window the procession halts, 
wails a song, and moves on. Then the wild 
rhapsody of a desert people grows fainter ; again 
only the tom-toms sound out in their barbaric 
prosody and float away over the town and the 
desert sand. A scavenger dog sneaks by and the 
city sleeps. 

One midnight I watched the moon disk pass 

behind the minaret of the Djema-el-Daruj 

[Mosque of the Steps] at the corner and paint the 

city in silver. On the other side of the Arbar- 

Arsat, far down the street, I caught sight now 

and again of a thief, as, rope in hand to lower 

himself into the courts, he worked his way along 

the roof tops. Quick and catlike his wiry figure 

dropped lightly to a lower level here, or scaled a 

[26] 



TOWN SCENES AND INCIDENTS 

height there, until he reached the house across 
the street. Sitting motionless I watched him 
with interest. Barefooted, he wore only a pair 
of cotton trousers, while a turban was twisted 
about his fez. The moonlight played over the 
muscles of his supple body and glinted a silver 
crescent from his crooked Arab knife. It was 
not until directly opposite that he saw me. For 
a second he stood motionless, then like a flash 
dropped below the parapet of the house and 
disappeared. 

Many an evening I would saunter down the 
Arbar-Arsat; pause long enough at the door of 
the Djema-el-Daruj to sense the interior of this 
beautiful shrine, lit only with its suspended 
cluster of myriad little lamps. These twinkled 
in the gray darkness like the falling stars of a 
bursting rocket and shed their delicate glow over 
the prostrate figures of the devout Moslems 
beneath them. On straw mattings which covered 
the marble floor, they turned their faces toward 
the kibleh [sacred niche] and Mecca. I rarely 
stopped, however, to deliberately peer into this 
sanctuary, lest I give offence. The next corner 
brought me to the Street of the Milk Sellers' 
Market. Knocking at a big green door, I would 

[27] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

shortly meet with a cordial reception from my 
friend Riley. 

His house, originally built for and occupied by 
the favorite wife of Yussef Bashaw, wa3 one of 
the best examples of the seraglio of a high-class 
Arab. A broad balcony surrounding the court 
took the place of the living-room, after the man- 
ner of the Arabs. Here amidst a bower of 
tropical plants, carpeted with rare rugs and 
furnished with all the necessities for a complete 
home life in the East, most of the family life is 
spent. Off the balcony were the private living- 
rooms. After the Arab custom, originally no 
two were connected and all save one received 
their light through barred windows opening upon 
the balcony. Several of these rooms had been 
converted into one spacious drawing-room and 
another into a library. 

Both Bashaw and Sultana have long since 
gone. Yussef 's bones repose in a mosque of his 
own name, while under an arched tomb of the 
Sultanas at Sciara-el-Sciut, the dust which was 
once the beautiful Lilla lies beneath the wind- 
blown sands near the sun-scorched desert trail 
which leads to Misurata. I gazed in fascinating 
reverie at the worn depressions in the floor tiles 

[28] 



TOWN SCENES AND INCIDENTS 

and where the edges of the balustrades had be- 
come softened and rounded. 

One evening, after Salam, the black Sudanese, 
had brought us our Turkish coffee, we settled 
down comfortably on the long wicker seats. 
The addax horns and native weapons on the 
walls painted long diverging slashes of black in 
the lamplight. The lamp shed its rays through 
the balustrade into the court, and the gnarled 
old tree which rose from its centre threw fan- 
tastic genii shadows on the opposite walls; the 
soft wind rustled in its canopy of leaves, through 
which an occasional star scintillated in a bit of 
blue. 

''Riley,'' said I, ''who lives in the big house 
with the heavy bolted door, near my lokanda.^'' 

"The one with the Roman column for a 
corner post.^ Why do you ask.^'' 

"Well, in passing I often look up at the lat- 
tice which projects from the window above its 
portal, and this afternoon when the sun fell full 
upon it, through its jalousied wood-work I saw 
indistinctly the face of a girl, then heard a gruff 
voice, and she disappeared.'' 

"Strange! Those jalousies, you know, screen 
the only window in the house that looks out on 

[29] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

the street. That window is in the gulphor — a 
room strictly private to the master of the house, 
none of his immediate family ever being allowed 
to enter without his particular permission. 
Come!'' said Riley; '^I will show you/' and he 
led the way to his private study, which had 
formerly been the gulphor of Arab masters. 
^'Step out here," and I found myself in a little 
latticed box outside the window. ''This hole in 
the floor allows one to see who may be knocking 
at the door directly beneath, but it has been 
known to be used by Moorish maidens as a 
means of communication with outsiders. By the 
way, you found no piece of cloth or paper in the 
street, did you.^ Odd stories have been asso- 
ciated with that house. It is rumored that a 
young Circassian girl, mysteriously brought from 
across the Mediterranean, is confined there in 
the seraglio of her master." 

We talked late, for the night was hot. During 
the day the silver thread of the mercury had 
hovered about blood-heat, and now, at midnight, 
it had dropped only to eighty degrees; but this 
was nothing unusual in Tripoli. Suddenly the 
brindled bulldog started from his dozing at his 
master's feet and with a low growl sprang upon 

[30] 



TOWN SCENES AND INCIDENTS 

the top of the balustrade which he patrolled, 
sniffing high in the air. 

''A thief on the roof/' remarked Riley. '' One 
night, not long before you came, that pup woke 
me out of a sound sleep. There was the devil 
of a rumpus in the street outside my door. 
Backed up against it, doing the best he could 
with his heavy hrasrullah [knobbed stick], which 
all Tripolitans carry at night, was Hadji Ali, a 
neighbor, putting up a game fight with three big 
Blacks with knives. Opening the door, I pulled 
him in; the Blacks started to follow. From 
behind my revolver I told them that any man 
who sought my protection against murderers 
would have it. Ordering them away, I closed 
the door and made Hadji comfortable for the 
night." 

''What had he done to them.^'' 

"Oh, nothing; they were hired by his enemy, 
another neighbor. They hid in that archway up 
the street and sprang out at him as he passed." 
As I went by the archway on my return that 
night I hugged the farther wall and carried my 
revolver in my hand." 

It is little wonder that here in the Bled-el- 
Ateusch — The Country of Thirst — where the 

[31] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

relentless sun enforces rest and the great soli- 
tudes seem to brood a sadness over things, 
there has been engendered in all the people 
a life of contemplation and fatalism little known 
and still less understood by thicker-blooded 
men whose lives are spent in struggle and ac- 
tivity against the adverse elements of northern 
climes. 

Tripoli is a land of contrasts — ^rains which 
turn the dry wadis [river beds] into raging tor- 
rents and cause the country to blossom over 
night, then month after month without a shower 
over the parched land ; suffocating days and cool 
nights; full harvests one year, famine the next; 
without a breath of air, heat-saturated, yellow 
sand wastes bank against a sky of violet blue; 
then the terrific blast of the gibli, the south-east 
wind-storm, lifts the fine powdered desert sand in 
great whoofs of blinding orange, burying cara- 
vans and forcing the dwellers in towns to close 
their houses tightly. 

Arab character in a marked degree seems to 
be the child of its environment and has inherited 
many of the characteristics of the great solitudes 
among which it has dwelt for thousands of years. 
On the one hand the Arab is hospitable and open- 

[32] 




o 



> 

a 
o 

OP 






a; 



a; 






o 



o 



I 



TOWN SCENES AND INCIDENTS 

handed ; on the other treacherous, grasping, and 
cruel ; seemingly mild and lazy, yet he is capable 
of performing extraordinary feats of labor. His 
religion and literature are full of poetry, but 
many of their tenets are lacking in his daily 
life. In his architecture and design the highest 
artistic instinct is shown, yet the representation 
of any living thing is forbidden. Stoical and 
dignified, yet he is capable of being roused by any 
wandering marabout to an ungovernable state of 
fanaticism; now you know him, again he is as 
mysterious and changeable as the shifting sand 
about him; by nature he is a nomad, a dweller 
in tents rather than in towns. '^ Allah has be- 
stowed four peculiar things upon us,'* say the 
Arabs: ^^our turbans shall be to us instead of 
diadems, our tents instead of walls and houses, 
our swords as intrenchments, and our poems 
instead of written laws.'' 

By the creed of Islam all lines are drawn, all 
distinctions made. Upon the traditions of Mo- 
hammed and the interpretations of the Koran 
the Arab orders his manner of life in polity, eth- 
ics, and science, and ''Allah hath said it," is the 
fatalistic standard of his daily life. The teach- 
ings of the Koran and centuries of warfare in 

[33] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

which women were but part of the victor's loot 
have in no small degree helped to develop that 
exclusiveness which is a cardinal principle in the 
Moslem life, for there is no social intercourse 
among Mohammedans in the Occidental sense of 
the word. 

The plain- walled house of the Tripolitan Arab, 
with its heavily bolted .door and jalousied win- 
dow, is built with due consideration to guarding 
well the secrets and private life of the occupants, 
and whether large or small, in town or country, 
all are of the same plan. 

The inner court is the quarters of the mistress 
of the harem. In many of these are ancient 
marble columns, while rare old China tiles adorn 
the walls. Here the mistress entertains com- 
panies of women; here they celebrate in their 
peculiar fashion the birth of a child or wail the 
burial-song over the body of the dead. 

Occasionally a Moorish woman is permitted 
to visit the mosques at night, accompanied by a 
servant. Sometimes she calls on a woman friend 
or with an attendant visits the bazaars. At these 
times she wears a baracan of fine texture, and a 
dark blue veil bound around her forehead covers 
her face. According to the thickness of this 

[34] 



TOWN SCENES AND INCIDENTS 

veil, her features may be more or less distin- 
guishable. I have noticed that oftentimes the 
more beautiful a woman, the thinner the veil. 
Tripolitan women of the middle class have a 
custom of going about without veils, but draw 
the baracan over the face instead, leaving a small 
aperture through which they peek with one eye. 
Women of the lower class — the countrywomen 
and Bedawi — frequently go with faces uncov- 
ered • 

The country Arab converts all his scant earn- 
ings into silver ornaments, and these are depos- 
ited on the persons of his wives — a veritable 
burden of riches, for they are constantly worn. I 
have run across women hauling water under the 
cattle yoke of the desert walls, literally loaded 
down with pounds of silver, while the husband 
sat on the edge of the well-curb and directed the 
irrigation of his fields. 

This silver forms an important function as a 
barometer of the country's prosperity, to read 
which one has but to go to the little booths of the 
silversmiths in the trellis-covered Suk-el-Turc 
and note whether the country people are sellers or 
buyers. In 1900, a year of poor crops, $72,500 
worth of this old silver, so dear to the womankind 

[35] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

of the peasantry, was broken up and exported, 
chiefly to France. 

The Turkish Imperial taxation is under the 
head of verghi [poll and property tax] and the 
tithe on agricultural produce. During the ten 
years preceding my sojourn in Tripoli, the total 
averaged $540,000 annually. 

The verghi payable by the vilayet was fixed at 
a sum equivalent to $408,000. Only in two 
years was this obtained, in 1901 and surpassed 
in 1902. Both were years of bad harvests, show- 
ing the tremendous pressure which must have 
been brought to bear on the peasants by the 
authorities. During the past thirty years the 
trade of Tripoli has been stationary, with an 
average annual value of $3,850,000 — exports 
balancing imports with remarkable regularity. 

Though the Tripolitan is quick to learn he has 
little creative genius, and his constitutional apa- 
thy is a formidable barrier against departure 
from his primitive customs and traditions. In the 
deserts certain tribes live by means of reprisals 
and by extorting heavy tolls from caravans. In 
the vicinity of the populated districts there are ma- 
rauding bands of thieves, and in the towns and 
suks [markets] are scheming ne'er-do-wells. But 

[36] 



TOWN SCENES AND INCIDENTS 

from my observation, most of the people hard- 
earned their bread at honest labor: the artisan 
in the town, the farmer in the country, the trader 
and caravan man on the trails. 



i 



137) 



CHAPTER THREE 

OUTSIDE THE WALLS 

WHILE the vilayet of Tripoli is a purely 
agricultural province, a very small area 
of these barren, inhospitable wastes is cultivated 
or cultivable under present conditions, and one 
need not look far for the primary cause — the 
yoke of Turkish taxation. ''Give me until to- 
morrow and I will pay my verghi," I once heard 
an Arab farmer say to a Turkish tax collector. 

^'Then give me your camel.'' 

''She and her foal were sold at Ramadan 
[Annual Fast],'' was the reply. 

"Ha! thou kafir [unbeliever], thy baracan will 
fetch little enough," and without a murmur the 
Arab was stripped of the garment. 

The district which lies between the crumbling 
eastern extremity of the Atlas known as the 
Tripoli Hills and the sea forms almost the entire 
present productive soil of the vilayet of Tripoli, 
being two-fifths of its 410,000 square miles. In 

[38] 



OUTSIDE THE WALLS 

this narrow strip, Arabs, Berbers, and Bedawi 
cultivate cereals, vegetables, and fruit trees. Here 
one is transported into an Old Testament land, 
to a people who still cling with childish tenacity 
to the picturesque and crude customs of ages past. 
There amid a flock of sheep is Joseph; Rebecca 
is filling an earthen water-jar at a desert well, or 
perhaps a young Bedaween sower after the first 
autumnal rains have soaked the ground, goes 
forth to sow. With a rhythmic swing of the arm 
he broadcasts seed. An elder member of the 
family, perhaps the old sheik himself, follows 
with a crude iron-tipped plough drawn by a 
camel, cow, or dilapidated ass. About four in- 
ches of soil are scratched up, but enough to turn 
under the seed, and the rest is left to nature. 
Aiter the grain is garnered it is flailed or tramped 
out under hoof on some hard-packed spot, and 
a windy day awaited, when it is thrown in the 
air, and wheat and chaff are thus separated. 

The soil, however, is so fertile, that with 
abundant rains the harvests are surprising in 
their yield. The seed sown is occasionally 
wheat, guinea corn, or millet, but generally bar- 
ley, the staple food of the Arab. 

Through lack of rain the Tripolitan can count 

[39] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

on only four good harvests out of ten. This also 
affects the wool production, and in bad years the 
Arab, fearing starvation, sells his flocks and his 
seed for anything he can get. Through lack of 
initiative and encouragement added to the bur- 
den of heavy taxation, fully one-half of the culti- 
vable soil lies fallow, and the Arab cattle-raiser 
or peasant sows only sufficient seed for his sup- 
port through the coming year. Any surplus 
which may be acquired, however, generally finds 
its way into the hand of the usurer and the tax 
gatherer, so that the Arab stands to lose by ex- 
tended cultivation. 

An oasis originally meant a habitation which 
presupposed the existence of water, but has come 
to mean any cultivated spot. It is usually de- 
veloped where springs or surface water are to be 
found; otherwise wells are sunk and the land 
irrigated by water drawn from them in huge 
goat-skin buckets. 

Selecting some satisfactory spot, the Arab digs 
his well, sets out his palms and orange-trees, and 
shortly under their shadows raises fruits and 
vegetables. In the cool of the day he hauls 
water to the well-top in the goat-skin buckets, to 
be automatically spilled into an adjoining cistern. 

[40] 



OUTSIDE THE WALLS 

This filled, a gateway is opened through which 
the sparkling liquid rushes, finally trickling 
away down the little ground channels by which 
the garden is irrigated. Camel, cow, donkey, or 
wife may be the motor power used to bring the 
water to the top of the well. This is achieved by 
hauling the well rope down the inclined plane of 
a pit. There was one well I used to visit in the 
oasis of Tripoli that was tended by an old blind 
man. Down into the pit he would go with his 
cow, turn her about, then up again. When 
something went wrong with the tackle he would 
lean dangerously out from the slimy well-curb 
or crawl along the rope beam over the opening 
to adjust the rope — no easy feat even for a man 
who could see. 

From the desert at the back of the town one 
looks across a sea of sand surrounding the heavy 
battlements. The coast and part of the city 
walls are screened by a narrow five mile oasis of 
date-palms a mile wide, which raise their chiselled 
shafts high above the houses and mingle their 
gracefully feathered tops with the needle spires 
of the minarets. It is not its beauty alone, how- 
ever, which makes the date-palm queen among 

trees: its shadow is protection from the heat; its 

[41] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

leaves are used for mats and thatching; its wood 
for building and fuel; its fibre for ropes and 
baskets ; its juice for drinking, and its fruit for 
food; even its stones, those which are not ex- 
ported to Italy to adulterate coffee, are made into 
a paste fodder for animals. No less than two 
millions of these regal beauties are grown by the 
Arabs in the vilayet of Tripoli, and great quanti- 
ties of the fruit finds its way to the arid plateau 
lands of the Fezzan, whose inhabitants make it 
their principal diet. 

Outside the town walls, or at established spots 
within the oasis, suks are held on certain days of 
the week. To these, over the sandy highways 
through the palm groves, passes the native 
traflBc — small caravans of donkeys and camels 
loaded with the products of agriculturists, and 
shepherds with their flocks of sheep, which patter 
along in a cloud of sand dust. 

I once saw a little donkey on the way to market 
supporting a corpulent Arab, a bag of corn, and 
a live sheep. Now and again the little burden 
bearer showed its fatigue and disgust by lying 
down in the road. Nothing of that nature, 
though, could disturb the imperturbable son of 
Allah, who held in place the corn and the sheep 

[42] 



OUTSIDE THE WALLS 

and stood astride the ass, forcing it to lift him as 
it regained its feet. 

The horse is used only for riding. Some fine 
breeds are found among certain tribes of the 
Tuaregs and others in the extreme south, or are 
owned by the wealthy Arabs of Barbary. Those 
seen about the towns and oases are ordinary 
specimens and are abominably treated. The 
Arab generally uses a cruel bit, goads his horse 
unmercifully with the sharp corners of his broad, 
scoop-like stirrups of steel, and has a bad habit 
of drawing it up sharply out of a full run. He 
is greatly aided in this feat by the character of the 
Arab saddle, which is undoubtedly the model 
from which our Western stock saddle originated. 
The horse-riding Tuaregs have a stirrup which 
in size is the other extreme of that used by the 
Arabs, it being just large enough to admit the 
big toe. Those Tuaregs who infest the northern 
deserts and the Asgar and Kelowis Tuaregs who 
control the Tripoli-Sudan trade routes, use the 
riding camel. 

The Suk-el-Thalat [Tuesday Market] is held 

just without the walls of Tripoli on a broad 

stretch of sand bordering the sea, and the Friday 

Market farther out in the oasis. 

[43] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

One morning before dawn I passed through 
the Castle Gate to the Suk-el-Thalat. Many 
others, mostly merchants from the town, were 
moving in the same direction. There was 
Hamet's one-eyed neighbor. Like many others, 
he carried a little portable shack, under which to 
spread his wares. I climbed to the top of the 
high wall of a square enclosure. In the early 
light the gray and white baracans of the people 
merged into the tone of the sand, and I could 
sense the great noiseless mass of humanity 
moving below me only by the dark spots of faces, 
arms, and legs. Then the sunlight flooded a 
scene as truly barbaric and pastoral as any in the 
days of Abraham. 

A palette of living, moving color, this red- 
fezzed, baracaned humanity wormed its way 
between piles of multicolored products of the 
oasis — scintillating brass, copper, and silver uten- 
sils ; ornaments, brilliant cloths, and leather trap- 
pings from the antipodes of Tripoli trade — Kano 
and Manchester. Most of the populace were 
merchants from the town, others tillers of the 
soil from the oases and plateau lands, half-naked 
Blacks from the neighboring suburb of Sciara-el- 
Sciut, caravan men and camel raisers from the 

[44] 



OUTSIDE THE WALLS 

tribes of Zintan, Orfella, and the Weled-Bu-Sef. 
Darkly clothed Jews were much in evidence, also 
wild desert men from the far south and nomadic 
traders from anywhere. Here the high, round fez, 
modern rifle, patched brown suit, and heavy shoes 
bespoke the Ottoman soldier, and the occasional 
glare of a pipe-clayed sun helmet, a European. 

In the wall's shadow just below my perch 
squatted a vender of knives. For culinary use ? 
Not by Mohammed's beard ! A knife is a thing 
to slay with; none but infidels, Jews, and Chris- 
tians at repast would portion food with such 
an instrument. Prospective customers crowded 
about him; some drew the crooked blades from 
their brass-mounted sheaths and bargained at 
their leisure. Instinctively they preferred to bar- 
ter, but this method of trade has been greatly 
superseded by the use of Turkish currency, 
although napoleons and sovereigns pass in the 
coast towns as readily as paras and medjidies. 

The following extract from a letter of a leading 
British resident of Tripoli will give an insight 
into the character and business methods of the 
Tripoli town Arab: 

The good old Arab is fast dying out, only a few remaining of 
the old school. When I came here seventeen years ago [and not 

[45] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

made my fortune yet] I sold hundreds of pounds to the Arabs, en- 
tering the goods to their debit in my books, calculating the amount 
with them, and they always paid up without any bother. When a 
man was ill he would send word and when well again would come 
round and bring the money. The new and present generation 
cannot be trusted. . . . They are learning tricks from the Jews 
and find they have to do them to be able to compete. It is quite 
a common thing for Arabs here to fail and offer 20 per cent, to 
25 per cent. ; before you never heard of an Arab smashing . . . 
he has learned all the vices of the European . . . and has slipped 
the good points of the Arab. 

The rural Arabs are thoroughly ignorant, superstitious, and 
suspicious when they come into town, knowing that the Jews, 
most of the Europeans, and the town Arabs are all on the lookout 
to take him in. He is hard-working and tills in his garden or field 
with his family, coming into town on market day to sell his prod- 
uce and buy his little supplies. 

The world over the paysan is the natural prey 
of the sophisticated and unscrupulous urbanite. 
But the methods by which these leeches extract 
their ill-gotten pelf is as varied as the conditions 
under which it must be obtained. 

Watch that Arab yonder; the one who has just 
turned in by the camel market with his flock of 
sheep. He soon stops and huddles them all in a 
bunch about him. It is early yet and he refuses 
the low offers proffered by several passers-by. 

" B'is salamah ! On thy peace, uncle pilgrim/' 
and a keen-visaged Moor greets him with the 
Temenah. 

[46] 




i 



OUTSIDE THE WALLS 

" Gedash ! [how much] has been offered thee for 
thy flock?" 

''Four medjidies [$3.52] a sheep." 

"What dog of an unbeliever has offered the 
price of his own skin to one of the Faithful? 
Thy sheep are fat and of good kind and by Allah 
are worth double, but hold, givest me one per 
cent, if I sell for twice that which is offered thee ? 
Well said ! Come then to yonder f onduk at the 
edge of the Suk and we will there place thy flock 
for safety." The Moor draws from his leathern 
money bag a few paras and pays for the stabling, 
the f ondiik keeper naturally supposing him to be 
the owner. 

''Now," said the leech, "let us take one sheep 
and go back to the Suk with it." Then through 
the crowd they pick their way, the leech carrying 
the sheep across his shoulder. 

"Hold, brother, may Allah lengthen thy age. 
Stay thou here with this sheep, while I seek a 
customer." 

Tired of waiting, and with growing suspicion 
the man from the wadan [country] at last hurries 
back to the fonduk, only to find that the leech 
had long since taken the flock and disappeared. 

The wall upon which I had been seated en- 

[47] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

closed a rectangular yard of several acres in 
which bulky loads of the wild esparto grass, or 
half a, as the Arabs call it, were being removed 
from the camels, eventually to be shipped to 
England for the manufacture of paper. 

Patches of blood stained the sand outside 
some neighboring shacks. They are but the sign 
of the Arab barber, who, in addition to his ton- 
sorial accomplishments, like the barbers of old, 
performs simple surgical operations, and our 
striped barber-pole is but an ancient symbol 
representing a twisted bandage. 

Passing through the produce quarter, I picked 
my way through heaps of grain, piles of melons, 
tomatoes, and other stuffs which made gorgeous 
spottings of color as they lay in the brilliant sun- 
shine, or under the violet shadows of the shacks 
which were shifted from time to time as the sun 
wore around. Under a tattered piece of old 
burlap two Sudanese roasted fodder corn; men 
scuffed noiselessly by over the hot sand, pausing 
here and there to ask, ''Gedash.^" ''How 
much.^'' Often they squatted down in front of 
the goods and sometimes spent an hour or more 
bargaining. 

I soon came to the Arab butcher shops. Sus- 

[48] 



OUTSIDE THE WALLS 

pended from heavy poles the meat hung dressed 
and ready for sale, and one cannot help being im- 
pressed with the very evident fact that practically 
no portion of the animal is considered unsalable. 
The nature of the Oriental climate has rendered 
certain kinds of food detrimental to health, and 
this with the Arab, as with the Jews, has led to 
a division of animals into clean and unclean. 
Those for the diet of the Faithful must be killed 
in a prescribed way. According to the Turkish 
law of the country, it must be killed in the early 
morning, and by reason of the extreme heat must 
be sold by the night of the same day. 

Within an open spot a wild, unkempt fellow 
holds forth to a circle of sober-visaged hearers. 
His long hair and fantastic garb at once stamp 
him as a marabout, or Mohammedan wandering 
monk. His kind are conspicuous characters 
among the people upon whom they live as, gener- 
ally bareheaded, staff in hand, they drift along 
the desert trails through the oases and towns. 
Most of these half-demented caricatures of 
humanity dress in filthy rags and claim lineal 
descent from Mohammed. Attributed as they 
are with supernatural powers, it is little wonder 
that they are venerated by the superstitious 

[49] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Moslems. At Ramadan they are very much in 
evidence, and have been indirectly responsible 
for holy wars and the direct cause of many up- 
risings and revolutions. 

The arrival of a large caravan from the Sudan 
is a great event, and as it reaches Tripoli groups 
of women shrill their cry of welcome. Many 
small caravans may be seen in the Suk when 
market is held. 

Frequently toward the end of the market day 
I would drop into one of the numerous little 
coffee-houses which border the easterly end of 
the Suk. Low benches lined its sides, and from 
a dark corner on one of these, I would watch my 
Arab neighbors smoke thoughtfully over their 
slender thimble pipes of kief and hashish. 

Between me and an Arab opposite the hazy 
smoke wreaths curled and lost themselves on 
the heat-laden air. As the hashish lulled his 
feverish brain to sleep in the Fields of the 
Blessed, perhaps through its fumes he saw 
miraged the events of a time when his sires 
unfurled their banners before Poitiers, flaunting 
them for centuries in the very eyes of Europe 
from the walls of Toledo and Granada, and 
Basquan valleys echoed the Mezzin's call. 

[50] 



OUTSIDE THE WALLS 

Through the smoke mist I saw but a repre- 
sentative of a poor tax-ridden people. I saw the 
great caravan trade through which they acquire 
their main exports, ivory, feathers, and Sudan 
skins, now almost gone, and her principal export, 
esparto grass, further back in the jebel [moun- 
tains] and growing more sparsely each successive 
year. Leaving the coffee-house I crossed the 
deserted Suk, just as the great red lantern of the 
sun lowered from sight and painted the spaces 
between the date-palms with bold slashes of red. 



[51] 



i CHAPTER FOUR 

SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

AMONG the many nomads who camp for a 
-^ ^ time in the oasis of Tripoli or on the out- 
skirts of the town are occasional tribes of 
Blacks, who have wandered across the Great 
Desert. These are very clannish, and do not 
mix much with the inhabitants of the towns, not 
even with those of their own color. Perhaps the 
most interesting of these Sudanese are the 
Hausas, to which people Salam ^ belonged. 
Salam, like many others of that splendid race 
who inhabit the Negro states of the far Sudan, 
had once taken his slim chances of escape across 
the desert wastes, arriving at last in Tripoli, 
where, as in numerous other North African 
towns under Turkish or French control, a slave 
may obtain his freedom by becoming a Turkish 
or French subject. 

During my sojourn in Tripoli, Salam at times 

* Salam has been previously mentioned as the servant of an 
English resident in Tripoli. 

[52] 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

was placed at my service by his master. The 
picture of this Hausa, when he first smiled in an 
appearance at my lokanda, is still vivid in my 
memory. 

It was one hot August night an hour after the 
evening prayer had wavered from the minarets 
across the housetops of Tripoli. I was sitting 
alone; my doors opened out on the broad bal- 
cony which surrounded the inner court. The 
night wind rustled softly through the upper 
branches of an olive-tree; a booma bird croaked 
hoarsely on its nest; the candle flickered. I 
must admit I was inwardly startled as I looked 
up from my writing at a white burnoosed figure, 
which had suddenly emerged from the darkness 
and now stood beside me. It was Salam. I 
remember how black his hand looked in contrast 
with the white note from his master which he 
delivered to me. 

His short, well-built figure was wrapped in six 
yards of baracan. From this bundle beneath the 
red fez, his face like polished ebony mirrored the 
candle flame in brilliant high lights, and below a 
heavy beak-like nose, his white teeth glistened 
and his deep-cut tribal scars criss-crossed in 
blacker shadows his cheeks and temples. He 

[53] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

received my answer: again the light flickered and 
Salam disappeared as quietly as he came. 

Far away to the south, six to eleven months as 
the camel journeys, south where the caravans 
end their long voyages and the Great Desert 
meets the forests, is the land of the Hausas, that 
great organized Black Empire. There, in the 
town of Meradi Katsena, Salam was born. His 
town was like thousands of others which lie 
scattered over the width and breadth of the 
Central Sudan, their mud walls and thatched 
roofs baking under the tropical sun of Hausa- 
land. 

Though short in stature, the Hausas, figura- 
tively speaking, are mentally head and shoulders 
above any of the numerous Black tribes of 
Africa. They have a written language resem- 
bling Arabic and the traveller through the Sudan 
who speaks Hausa can be understood almost 
everywhere. 

Despite the fact that the Hausas are a com- 
merce-loving people, slavery from time immemo- 
rial has been a national curse. For centuries the 
noiseless tread of laden slaves has worn deep- 
rutted paths below the forest level, packing them 
hard as adamant and weaving an intricate sys- 

[54] 







Salam, the Hausa 

Equipped with a spear and a shield of rhinoceros hide 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

tern of narrow highways through the jungles of 
Hausaland. Incomprehensible as it may seem, 
it is nevertheless a fact that only a few years ago 
at least one out of every three hundred persons in 
the world was a Hausa-speaking slave.^ 

Notwithstanding horrible atrocities committed 
by slave-holders, slaves have always had certain 
rights of their own. Sometimes their condition 
is better than before captivity, and it is not unusual 
for head slaves to be slave-owners themselves and 
to be placed in positions of high trust. One 
noted instance is that of Rabbah, an ex-slave of 
Zubehr Pasha, who by direction of the Mahdi 
became governor of the great eastern Hausa 
state of Darfur. 

The slave traflSc, based as it is on a tribute- 
paying system, has had a most demoralizing 
effect, and until the recent extension of the 
British sphere of influence permanent security of 
life and property was unknown. Slaves sent out 
with the garflas [caravans] often travel as far 
north as Tripoli and other towns in Barbary 
where freedom could be had for the asking, but 

* Charles H. Robinson, in "Hausaland/' says: "It is generally 
admitted that the Hausa-speaking population number at least 
fifteen millions, i. e., roughly speaking, one per cent, of the world's 
population, . , . and at the very least one-third are in a state of 
slavery." 

[55] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

through fear or ignorance many return south 
again to their bondage. The sum necessary for 
a slave to buy his freedom, subject as he would be 
to arbitrary taxation and recapture, is prohibitiye, 
so only escape remains with its attendant risks. 

As Salam trudged beside me through the oasis 
of Tripoli, or during quiet hours spent together 
in my lokanda, he told me of himself and his 
people. In order to appreciate the circumstances 
surrounding Salam's capture, one must under- 
stand the conditions in his country. A state of 
feudal warfare between many neighboring towns 
is a chronic condition throughout Hausaland. 
The tribute-paying system rather than a state of 
war was responsible for slave raiding, for vassal 
chiefs and towns were obliged to include large 
numbers of slaves in their annual tribute. The 
powerful Sultan of Sokoto demanded from the 
Hausa states three-fourths of his tribute in human 
beings — and got them — ten thousand coming 
from the King of Adamawa alone. It was in one 
of these slave-raiding expeditions that Salam was 
first made a slave. At the time he lived at 
Midaroka, where he had been taken by his 
brother-in-law, Lasunvadi, after the death of his 
parents. 

[56] 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

^'I was cutting fodder in the open with Lasun- 
vadi's slaves/' said Salam. ''We had stopped 
work to await the approach of a great number of 
horsemen, thinking they were some of our own 
people. 'They are warriors of Filahni!' sud- 
denly cried a slave and we fled for the brush. I 
was among those captured and taken to Filahni. 
The journey was hard; some of the slaves at- 
tempted to escape and were clubbed to death. 
I was then fourteen years old and valuable, so I 
became the property of Durbee, the Bashaw's 
son. Durbee was just to his slaves, and we 
fared well. He had a great many horses which 
means wealth and power in my land, for every 
horse means a mounted warrior. 

"My work was about my master's compound, 
but often I would steal away and sleep in the 
shade of a papaw tree, or watch the scarlet- 
breasted jamberdes flit about, and the monkeys 
chase and swing among the branches. Some- 
times Durbee himself would find me and shake 
me awake. 'For what do I give you yams and 
dawaf [bread] he would say. I would reply, 
' Haste is of the devil and tardiness from the All 
Merciful.' 'Hubba! thou lazy mud fish,' he 
would shout, and it would be many days before 

[57] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

my back would heal from the welts of his 
rhinoceros hide." 

Working when made to, sleeping when he 
could, a year passed. In the evening he watched 
the slaves gamble about the fire, often staking 
anything of value he might have acquired. As 
slaves and cowries form the chief currency of the 
people, these are naturally the principal stakes 
in games of chance. The little white cowrie 
shells found on certain parts of the African 
coast are, so to speak, the small change of the 
country. Several years ago the value of a single 
cowrie was about one-eightieth of a cent, i. e., 
two thousand equalled a quarter of a dollar. 
The inconvenience of this "fractional currency" 
is evident, considering that three-quarters of a 
million, weighing over a ton and a half, were paid 
by a king to an explorer for a few rolls of silk. 
Consequently, the check-book of wealthy Hausas, 
when travelling, is an extra number of slaves, one 
of which from time to time they cash for cowries. 

The shells are also worn about the person as 
a protection from any evil influence, or the "evil 
eye." Five selected cowries, for gambling, may 
be found in the possession of most Hausas. 
Hardly second to the curse of slavery in Hausa- 

[58] 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

land is that of gambling and the passion for it 
among these people is unrestrained. It takes 
its most insidious form in the game of ''chaca," 
played by tossing up the five cowries, the result 
depending upon the way they fall. At times 
there is no limit to the stakes, and the escutcheon 
of Hausaland might well be five white cowrie 
shells on a field of black. 

Salam once told me that a friend of his master 
was playing one evening after much lakhy [a 
palm wine] had been drunk. ''Everybody was 
excited,'' said he, ''for the 'evil eye' was on him, 
and time after time his cowries fell the wrong 
way. Losing first his wives, then his horses, he 
turned to his opponent and cried, 'Throw again; 
if I lose I am your slave.' The evil spirit of the 
hyena appeared in the darkness — and he lost." 

In Hausaland, as in the rest of native Africa 
the Bashaws and powerful natives are generally 
the judges, and not only the poor Hausa, but the 
owner of too many horses, slaves, and wives, 
must be careful how he treads, lest he arouse the 
apprehension or envy of his Bashaw, who loses 
no time in presenting "requests" for gifts. These 
demands are continued until his subject is suffi- 
ciently weakened or ruined. 

[59] 



r 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Now Durbee had a cousin who had been un- 
fairly appointed Bashaw by the Sultan of Sokoto. 
Despite the feeling of injustice which rankled in 
Durbee's breast, he loyally complied with his 
cousin's demands for horses, until his favorite 
black horse, his akawali, alone remained. One 
morning as Salam sat in the porch of Durbee's 
house, a giant negro arrived to take the akawali 
and to summon Durbee before the Bashaw. 

*^My master," said Salam, "was not feeling 
sweet, and seizing his war spear said threaten- 
ingly, *Take him if you can! Bur-r-ro! Go, 
tell my cousin a Bashaw does not go to a Bashaw, 
and my akawali stays with me. Tell him that be- 
fore the shadows of the date-palms have darkened 
the doorway of his house I will meet him to fight.' 

"That afternoon Durbee mounted his horse, 
took his shield and weapons, and went out alone. 
Some of us followed to the edge of the palm 
grove, and as the appointed time drew near he 
rode out in the open. There on the hot sands he 
awaited his enemy. The hour of the challenge 
passed, but the coward never came. Durbee 
kept his akawali, and before the annual fast of 
Ramadan gathered his retainers about him and 
supplanted his cousin.'* 

[60] 




A Hausa Bashaw 

'There on the hot sands he awaited his enemy' 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

Shortly after this Durbee made a journey to 
Sokoto to make his peace with the Sultan and 
left Salam with a friend in a neighboring town. 
This man treacherously sold him for two thou- 
sand cowries [$25] in Kano, the great emporium 
of Central Africa. 

Within its fifteen miles of mud walls, twenty to 
forty feet in height, swarms a mass of black and 
sun-tanned humanity. In the open markets cara- 
vans of Black traders from the Congo come in with 
their long lines of donkeys weighted down with 
ivory, gold dust, and kola nuts, halting perhaps 
beside a garfla all the way from Tripoli with Euro- 
pean goods and trinkets, or from the salt chotts of 
Tunisia and Asben,for salt is scarce in the Sudan. 

Here Arab merchants from the Mediterranean 
and the Red Sea meet those from the Niger and 
the Gulf of Guinea, and no small number of the 
two million nomads who pass through every 
year are Hausa pilgrims bound for Mecca. The 
hadji^ or pilgrimage by the way of Central 
Sudan, Tripoli, or Egypt has brought the Hausas 
in touch with other peoples and has contributed 
much to Hausaland's civilization. I 

* The term hadj, or hadji, is applied both to the pilgrimage to 
Mecca and to one who has made the journey. 

[61] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Among this heterogeneous mass are occasion- 
ally seen those jfierce white-skinned sons of the 
desert, the Tuaregs. You can tell them at a 
glance as, lean and supple, with an easy panther- 
like tread, they glide through this congested 
human kaleidoscope. Tall and picturesque, with 
long spears or flint-locks in their hands, and 
maybe a broadsword across their backs, appar- 
ently seeing nothing, they observe all. Perhaps 
they are here to trade, but more likely to keep 
close watch of departing caravans bound north- 
ward through their territory, that their sheiks 
may exact homage and heavy tribute, or failing 
in this may loot. 

It is estimated that Kano clothes over one-half 
of the great population of the Sudan. In the 
towns of Central Tunisia, two thousand miles 
away, I have seen the indigo and scarlet cloths 
of Kano hanging next to those of Kairwan and 
Sfax, and piled in the Arab fonduks of Tripoli, 
hundreds of camel loads of her tanned goat-skins 
ready for shipment to New York, and I have 
watched the natives in the markets barter for 
sandals and desert slippers of Kano dye. 

On his way to Kano, Salam passed many slave 
caravans. Some of the wretches came in bound 

[62] 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

with thongs or under heavy yokes. One method 
was to fasten ten to twenty slaves together, one 
behind the other, by shoving their heads through 
holes cut every few feet in a long wooden yoke. 
Sometimes one of these human strings thus 
fastened together would make futile attempts to 
escape, pathetically jogging in step through the 
bush or forest until soon run down by their 
merciless pursuers. Now and again, as they 
staggered by, Salam saw a slave, too weak and 
exhausted to walk, hanging limp by his neck, his 
feet dragging along the ground, his dead weight 
adding to the insuflferable tortures of the others 
hitched to the same yoke. 

At such times, unless near a market, the sick 
are despatched by their drivers who, not wishing 
the trouble of unshackling a wretch, resort to the 
simple expedient of decapitation, thus releasing 
soul and body at one cruel stroke. 

In the fifth month of the dry season, during 
Salam's stay in Kano, the caravans bound north 
being in haste to leave before the rains began, 
his master gathered his men and goods together, 
the camels and donkeys were loaded, and they 
started on their journey across the Desert, the 
Great Solitary Place. They took plenty of kola 

[63] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

nuts packed between damp leaves in baskets. 
These they chewed to give strength to travel far 
without food. 

"A month's journey/' said Salam, "brought 
us to the outlying territory of my people, and one 
night we passed a spot where there was once a 
village of Tuaregs under two sheiks. On one 
of my visits there with Lasunvadi, a dog came 
sniffing along and a Tuareg struck him with 
a knife, whereupon the dog's owner killed the 
Tuareg. The men of both sides came running 
from all directions and fought till there were not 
enough left to bury the dead. Those who were 
not killed left the village, and the place was 
called Djibana, the Place of the Cemetery of the 
Dog." 

At Zinder, Salam's master was obliged to pay 
homage and tribute in order to pass through 
the territory controlled by its fierce inhabitants, 
the Asbenawa, who were under the Bashaw of 
Salam's native town, Katsena. One glimpse of 
Salam's tribal marks, and they would have freed 
him and destroyed the caravan. Knowing this, 
his master gagged him and did him up tightly in 
the middle of one of the camel loads. Here, 
jolted and bumped against other camels, unable 

[64] 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

to move and nearly suffocated, he was confined 
during a day's march, and when taken out more 
dead than alive, his limp body was thrown over 
a donkey. For months they marched north over 
the sand and rocky lands of the Desert. Now 
and again a garfla man paid his last tribute to 
the sands and added his bones to the many 
others bleaching in the sun beside the caravan 
trails. 

At last they reached Ghadames, and in the 
course of a year, having passed through the 
hands of several other masters, Salam was sold to 
an Arab by the name of Hadji Ahmed, who sent 
him into the desert to raise camels. 

It was one night in my lokanda that Salam told 
me of his escape. 

"From time to time,'' began Salam, ^^my mas- 
ter made journeys to distant towns, even as far as 
Tripoli, leaving the slaves for months without 
food save what we could gather ourselves. One 
morning while the stars were still bright and the 
dried grass wet with the night dews, I left on a 
mehari [running camel]. By midnight of the 
second day I arrived outside the walls of Ouragla, 
among some tents. Near one of these the mehari 
stopped of his own accord, and dismounting, I 

[65] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

hobbled him and lay down under a palm-tree to 
sleep. 

*'I was startled the next morning at the sound 
of a voice I well knew, and peered out from 
under my baracan. Within six camel lengths of 
me stood Hadji Ahmed, my master, and his 
head slave. 

"'Hubba!' said he to the mehari, 'thou lump 
of swine's flesh! How came you here?' I 
knew then that the mehari had led me into a 
trap. 

'' ' Gibani ! the mehari is hobbled. WTiat does 
this mean?' said my master to the head slave. 
Seeing I was about to be discovered, I jumped up 
and ran angrily toward them, exclaiming, ' Wlio 
should have brought it here but me, whom you 
left without food!' 

'''TMio showed you the road ?' cried he, laying 
hold of me. 

"'My hunger!' WTiereupon they both set 
upon me and flogged me and the next day I was 
conducted back home. 

''Before my master returned from Ouragla, 
I planned again to escape with Bako, another 
slave; we would avoid the towns and go far 
north, so one day when we were alone branding 

[66] 



SAL.\M, A HAUSA SLA\'E 

camels we selected the fastest mehara [running 
camels] in the herd and started. 

''For seven days and nights we travelled with- 
out stopping. The hot sun beat dowTi upon our 
heads; the second day a sand-storm dried up 
what little water we had in our goat-skins. By 
turns one of us, tied in his saddle, slept while the 
other led his camel. Sometimes we would slide 
down from the humps and allow^ the mehara to 
graze as we walked along. We found no water, 
and the beasts began to show signs of thirst and 
uttered strange cries, groaning and gurgling as 
they redrank the water from their stomachs. 

''One midnight — I shall ever remember it, 
Arfi [master] — we skirted the outlying palms of 
an oasis. Everything was very clear in the 
moonlight, and water was there, but we dared go 
no nearer the habitations for fear of capture, 
knowing Ahmed was not far behind us. 

"'We tightened up the saddle straps, for the 
mehara had grown thin and the soft parts of their 
humps had almost disappeared. Bako's saddle, 
made for loads, was hard to ride and had pro- 
duced boils, so he often sat behind it to vary the 
motion. 

"As we were sick and weak, every stride of the 

[67] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

mehara sent pain through us. We knew that we 
could not much longer cling to our saddles, so we 
lashed each other on. The last time that Bako 
fell to one side I was too weak to help him, and 
he rode with his head hanging lower than his 
heels. The camel ticks burrowed into our skin, 
our tongues were cracked and bleeding when the 
mehara at last staggered into Ghadames. 

'"Some days after the Turkish governor of that 
place sent us here to Tripoli with a caravan, to be 
taken before his brother the Bey [Redjed Pasha]. 
Many in the towns came to the Tuesday Market 
to see the caravan come in, and among them I 
saw the fat form of one of my former masters, 
Sala Heba — the one who had sold me to Hadji 
Ahmed. He watched us enter the Castle, where 
we obtained our release, and as I came out a 
free man he approached me : * You are a stranger 
in the town. I live here now. Come and work 
for me.' So I did, though I well knew the old 
pig had heard of my escape. 

'' One night I was awakened from my sleep by 
Heba holding a low conversation with some one 
in the court. The other voice I recognized as 
that of my last master, Hadji Ahmed, and I 
listened from the roof as they planned my re- 

[68] 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

capture by inducing me to go south again as a 
caravan man. 

'^The next morning Hadji Ahmed called for 
me and said: 'You have your freedom now. 
Come as a driver and I will give you three 
medjidies [$2.64], clothes, and a month's wages 
of three more in advance, to go back with the 
garfla.' I agreed, and taking the money, went 
out with him to buy a new burnoose and other 
clothes. *Now,' said he, *go to the Fondiik-el- 
Burka where the caravan is being loaded.' 

"Taking the bundle, I chuckled to myself as I 
turned up a side street where lived Sidi Amoora, 
who kept open house for slaves and often pro- 
vided them with money. There I left my bundle 
and hid under the sea wall, not far from the 
house, Arfi, where was once the consulate of 
your country. Hadji Ahmed and his men ran all 
over town in search of me and at last one found 
me asleep wrapped in my new burnoose. 

"'Bu-r-r-o! Get out. The garfla is going. 
Hurry! Your master is angry.' 

"'I have no master, I am a Turk now,' said 

I. Leaving me, the man returned with Hadji 

Ahmed, who angrily ordered me off, but I 

laughed and said: 

[69] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

" ^ Lah ! [No.] I know your schemes/ 

*^'You refuse to go? You, my slave, dare 
steal my money as a tick would bleed a camel!' 
he cried threateningly, but I sprang from his 
grasp as he attempted to seize me. 

"'Give me the clothes and the medjidies,' he 
commanded. 

'' ' Lah ! I have use for them. I go to the Bey 
to pay for a protest against you.' 

"At this Ahmed was greatly scared, though 
more angry, but I was safe enough there by the 
sea wall, as free as Hadji himself, who well knew 
the Bey could punish him and confiscate his 
goods. 

"'Never mind,' said he; 'here are three more 
medjidies.' I took them. 

"'Kafir!' said I, 'thou white-faced horse with 
weak eyes!' And that was the last I ever saw 
of him, but I often went to visit the fat Heba to 
inquire after his health and to show him my new 
burnoose." 

"But the medjidies, Salam?" I laughingly 
queried. The dark eyes met mine for a moment; 
the pupils seemed to contract fiercely. Then a 
black hand disappeared under the folds of his 
baracan. 

[70] 




b£ 



Jl 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

^^I bought this," said he, and drew from its 
sheath a beautifully worked dagger, the crooked 
blade of which flashed silver in the lamplight. 

Not long after Salam had related his narrative 
to me a most unexpected event occurred. One 
hot morning, from out the sounds of the Arab 
town life, came the faint rhythmic cadence of 
distant-beating tom-toms. As their echoes vi- 
brated up the narrow Street of the Milk Sellers' 
Market, I went out in time to meet a small com- 
pany of Blacks. They were parading the town 
by way of announcing to their race the event of a 
religious dance, to be held near the palm groves 
of the oasis outside the town. 

Late that afternoon found me in company with 
Salam headed in the direction of their rendez- 
vous. Salam w^as dressed in his best fez and 
baracan, with a little bouquet of blossoms tucked 
behind his ear. In one hand he carried — as was 
his custom on auspicious occasions — a piece of 
discarded copper cable which he had picked up 
as a prize at the cable station. Turning a corner 
of a building on the outskirts of the town, we 
came into full view of a barbaric Sudanese dance. 

Forming a great ring seventy-five yards in 
diameter was a wild lot of some two hundred 

[71] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Blacks/ surrounded by twice as many excited 
spectators. Its limits were fixed by poles, from 
whose tops the green flag of the Prophet occasion- 
ally fluttered in the hot breeze. Most of the 
participants wore gaudy-colored vests, below 
which hung loose skirts weighted here and there 
at the edges. Each carried a heavy krasrullah, 
and there seemed to be certain understood forms 
which they observed in the dance. For nearly 
half a minute the tom-toms, re-enforced by the 
squawking oboes and clashing cymbals, would 
sound out their wild strains in regular cadence. 
Meanwhile the dancers would beat time, holding 
their clubs vertically, scuffing up the hot sand and 
uttering strange grunts. Facing one another in 
pairs, they would accentuate the beats by sharply 
cracking their clubs together several times. 

At sudden flares of music they would turn 
violently round and round, sending up great 
clouds of orange sand, their weighted skirts 
swirling out almost horizontally about their 
waists. Then they would bring up short, each 
opposite another partner, with a crack of their 
clubs; and so the dance went on. 

^ These were nomads and of two tribes, the Ouled Bedi from Bedi 
and the Ouled Wadi Baghermi. Baghermi is near Kuka, just west 
of Lake Chad. Both places may be found on maps. 

[72] 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

My presence and black camera box seemed 
to arouse their suspicion and animosity. These 
fanatics had been dancing for hours in the hot 
sun and were crazed with the intoxicating lakby 
until they had reached a state of religious frenzy 
of which I was not aware until too late. 

Pushing my way through the circle of onlook- 
ers, I took a picture of the barbaric crew dripping 
with perspiration, Salam urging me to be quick. 
An old man and a tall, ugly-looking brute broke 
from the ring and ran toward me. Click! went 
my camera a second time when, without 
warning, from the crowd behind came a volley of 
stones ; some struck me ; the rest whizzed by into 
the centre of the ring, striking one or two of the 
dancers. Those nearest left the dance, and 
joined the several hundred black, sweating devils 
who had surrounded me. Salam sprang be- 
tween me and the old chief, asking him to call 
off his tribesmen. But Salam was of a tribe un- 
known to these Sudanese nomads and no atten- 
tion was paid to him. 

"Shall I go for guards, Arfi.^" said Salam. 

''Yes,'' said I, and slipping back from the 
crowd he disappeared. The whole thing oc- 
curred so suddenly that I had not realized the 

[73] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

significance of the danger until he had gone and 
I found myself in the vortex of this frenzied 
human whirlpool. 

Only a few individual faces stood out of the 
crowd, the two who left the ring and a loathsome 
individual, seemingly a marabout, who spat at 
me. Those behind jabbed me with the ends of 
their clubs. Those in front, led by the old man, 
gesticulated and shouted and shook their clubs 
above their heads. Meanwhile, bruised from 
one of the stones, I limped as slowly as my im- 
patience would permit across the open space and 
managed to work my way alongside the stand 
of an Arab fruit seller. Here, to disguise my 
mingled feelings of anger and apprehension, I 
bought some figs. Discarding the poorer ones, 
I proceeded to eat the rest in the most approved 
native fashion, affecting meanwhile a steadiness 
of hand which quite belied me. 

Instead of quieting the crowd, my attitude 
served to make them more furious. They yelled 
and threatened in my face, while I clung tightly 
to my camera box and wondered how much re- 
sistance there was in my pith sun helmet. I had 
no weapon and it was better so, for one would 

have been useless against these fanatics. 

[74] 



SALAM, A HAUSA SLAVE 

The big negro stepped forward in a menacing 
attitude toward me as Salam suddenly reap- 
peared. Unable to find guards, he had passed 
the word and returned to my assistance. Thrust- 
ing aside one or two who blocked his way, he 
confronted the Black and drew his attention 
from me by deliberately insulting him and his 
tribe in languag'e which I afterward learned was 
not poetical. 

If the affair had not been so serious, the situa- 
tion would have been laughable. Puffed up to 
his greatest height stood the big Black, wielding 
his club above his head. Below him Salam's 
short figure was gathered back, every muscle 
speaking defiance, as he crouched with his in- 
significant piece of copper cable upraised. Both 
glowered at one another like wild beasts. A 
second more and the game would have been up 
with us both. 

"Salam!'' I said sharply, at the same time 
pulling him back. But his blood was up and he 
sprang from my grasp. A sickening fear seized 
me. At that moment a shout went up, there was 
a scufl3e, Turkish guards thrust them aside with 
their rifle butts, and dispersing the crowd es- 
corted us safely back to town. 

[75] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

There was only one reason which led me to 
request that no troops be sent to gather in the 
ringleaders. Salam's life afterward would not 
have been worth the hide of his desert slippers. 



[76] 



CHAPTER FIVE 

THE MASKED TUAREGS 

TO the Arab are generally accredited the con- 
trol and ownership of the Great Sahara, 
but in reality there, far away from the coasts, a 
people as mysterious as the trackless sands — the 
masked Tuaregs — are the real rulers and buc- 
caneers of the Desert. Their homes are in the 
very heart of those arid wastes, whose vast soli- 
tudes seem shrouded in mystery, and where over 
it all one feels at times, even in the sunlight, an 
uncanny brooding. 

In the vicinity of Timbuktu dwell the Aweelim- 
miden tribe, the westernmost of the Tuareg tribal 
confederation. In the very centre of the Sahara 
and in the rugged Hoggar Mountains, under the 
Tropic of Cancer, live perhaps the most blood- 
thirsty of all — the Hoggars. In the deserts in 
the vicinity of Ghadames and Ghat, where the 
border line of Tripoli seems to open its mouth, 
roam the Asgars, while to the south of Tripoli the 

[77] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Kelowis infest and control the regions through 
which pass two caravan routes from TripoH to the 
Sudan. Every southbound caravan from Tripoli 
is forced to pass through Tuareg territory. For 
this privilege the garfla sheik must in person 
salute the Tuareg Sultan and pay a toll accord- 
ing to the wealth of his merchandise, in addition 
to a fixed tariff, which is levied on all caravans. 
And woe betide the luckless caravan whose inde- 
pendent sheik refuses to pay tribute or which is 
caught in the meshes of tribal wars! 

The Tuaregs are masters of a territory half 
the area of the United States in extent. It 
reaches from Barbary to the Niger, from the 
fever-laden districts of Semmur and Senegal on 
the Atlantic to the land of the wild Tebus, who 
occupy and control the deserts east of Lake 
Chad. Out of the million and a half square 
miles of Tuareg territory scarcely more than the 
area of New York City is cultivated land, and 
even this, in most cases, is saved only by a con- 
stant fight against the relentless march of the 
drifting sand. Fearless and enduring must a 
people be who can live, travel, and thrive in such 
a desolation. 

Mounted on swift mehara, fleet-footed horses, 

[78] 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

or depending only on their own hardihood and 
endurance — now here, gone to-morrow — these 
fierce adventurers, mysterious and as shifting as 
the sands over which they rove, occasionally 
drift northward for trade, to forage, or in the 
pursuit of plunder. 

At times they are seen in the most important 
suks of the northern Sahara and of the Sudan, 
perhaps to convoy caravans, to spy upon them, 
or w^ith garflas of their own. 

These suks are in the great marts where the 
people from long distances meet to trade; so, 
too, they are naturally the focal points of the 
caravan routes. 

Tripoli caravans which cross the Sahara often 
travel from three to four thousand miles, involv- 
ing enormous outlay, great risks, and sometimes 
taking two years for the round voyage — all for 
the sole purpose of exchanging the merchandise 
of the north for the wares and products of the 
Sudan. 

From Morocco to Tripoli I had heard vague 
rumors of these strange rovers of the yellow 
main, of their cunning and their^ relentless 
ferocity; but only once had I met any one who 
had ever actually seen a Tuareg, one of the God- 

[79] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

forsaken, as the Arabs call them. Shortly after 
my arrival in Tripoli I set out to get information 
about them. But information was scarce, save 
along one line — the pillaging of caravans. 

One night, as was my wont, found me at the 
home of my friend Riley. 

*'Only Old Mustafa," he commented as he 
joined us on the balcony which surrounded 
the inner court. Old Mustafa was one of the 
shrewdest Arabs in Tripoli. Fifteen years before 
he picked up bones for a living ; now he was one 
of the wealthiest merchants in the town. But in 
the past few years much of his wealth, invested 
in the caravan trade, had been emptied out on the 
desert by the Tuaregs, Tebus, and Gatrunys. 
But a little while before a rider had come with 
bad news from the south on a mehari from 
Murzuk. Details were meagre, but the home- 
ward-bound caravan had been attacked between 
the Bilma oasis and Kawar, on the Chad trail. 
This trail is the most direct and westerly of the 
two main routes, and had been considered fairly 
safe by reason of the recent British occupancy of 
Kuka at its southern end. The other, to the 
south-west, by way of Ghadames, Ghat, and Air, 
of late years had proved a costly risk. The great 

[80] 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

menace to the caravan trade is the Tuareg. It 
is he who is generally responsible for the looting 
of the garflas : perhaps indirectly, as in the case 
of a recent attack by the Rashada, a wild Tebu 
tribe from the east of the Ghat route, which had 
suffered the loss of some camels through a border 
invasion of Tuaregs. Failing to regain posses- 
sion, they took it out of the next Tripoli cara- 
van, at a small oasis called Falesselez, and car- 
ried off some eighty loads of ostrich feathers and 
three hundred and eighty loads of Sudan skins. 
It was a good haul for one raid, but hardly a 
circumstance, as compared with the Damerghu 
affair, about half-way between Kano and Air. 
This caravan was one of the largest which had 
left Kano, consisting of thirteen thousand camels, 
not to mention donkeys, goats, and sheep. This 
time it was being convoyed mainly by Kelowi 
Tuaregs, and started from the south. When 
about half-way between Kano and Air it was 
attacked by the Damerghu, who had an old 
score to settle with the Kelowis. They literally 
got away with the whole outfit to the amount of 
nearly a million dollars' worth of animals and 
goods. Old Mustafa was not caught in this 
raid, which nearly caused a commercial crisis in 

[81] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Tripoli and left the bones of twelve of her best 
caravaneers beside the trail. 

Paradoxical as it may seem, the Tuaregs are 
not only despoilers of the caravan trade, but 
also make that trade possible through their pro- 
tection as escorts. For, when tribute is paid for 
safe-conduct through their territory, these swarthy 
warriors, mounted high on their lurching mehara, 
accompany the caravan to the outskirts of the 
territory, or, as sometimes happens, agree to pro- 
tect it through adjoining dangerous districts. 
On these occasions they will fight as for their 
own with all the ferocity of their leonine natures. 
During the march, however, should one of these 
eagle-eyed adventurers spy some object which 
strikes his fancy belonging to a caravaneer, the 
latter is informed of that fact, whereupon the 
object changes owners — even to the stripping 
from his back of his baracan. 

''Where can I find the Tuaregs.^" I asked. 

"Well,'' replied M. Zolia, eying me quizzically, 
"most people are afraid that the Tuaregs will 
find them. Their nearest town is Ghadames, 
twenty days' camel's journey — if you're lucky. 
Not within the memory of any of us Europeans 
here in Tripoli has a Christian ever been per- 

[82] 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

mitted by the Turks even to start on that route, 
but a number have tried to enter from southern 
Tunisia. 

*'Let me tell you of one daring attempt made 
by two young French lieutenants. One was of 
the Spahis, the other of the Engineers, both 
stationed in southern Tunisia. Knowing that 
permission to make the journey to Ghadames 
would be refused owing to frontier difficulties, 
they obtained leave, ostensibly for a trip to 
Algiers. 

"An Arab guide had been secured, and that 
night three muffled figures mounted on mehara 
sped along the starlit sands toward Ghadames. 
At one place they stopped to rest near the kouha 
[saint's house] of a marabout; then, leaving it and 
its solitary occupant, continued on. After a 
fatiguing journey the white walls and date-palms 
of their goal appeared on the horizon, clear-cut 
against the blue sky. As they drew up to the 
gates of the city, however, they were met by a 
menacing, jeering mob — for the marabout's eyes 
were keen and his mehari fresh. 

"Amidst cries of Roumi! Yahudi! and vol- 
leys of stones they were forced to retreat for their 
very lives. Fearing an attack, they took a cir- 

[83] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

cuitous route devoid of wells, and after super- 
human exertions staggered back to their starting- 
point." 

I well knew the futility of obtaining permission 
from the Pasha to travel in that direction; be- 
sides, my contemplated route lay south-east. 
But, being anxious to get at least one glimpse of 
a Tuareg, I persisted in my inquiry. 

"Well, you might cross their trail in the 
desert," replied M. Zolia, "'and by some chance 
you might run across them right here in Tripoli, 
for occasionally they come in with the caravans, 
or to trade." 

''Then I could knock off a sketch." 

''A sketch!" ejaculated Riley. ''Gad, man, 
don't try any white man's magic with your pencil 
or camera on those fellows. That black camera 
box of yours, with a glass eye pointing at them, 
they would regard as an evil thing. They might 
think you could cast a spell over them, and one 
method of breaking- it would be to stab the evil 
one casting it. 'Dead men cast no spells' is 
their motto. Keep away from them ; don't even 
appear too curious. They are childishly super- 
stitious; you might unwittingly offend them by 
some trivial act, and their knives are long." 

[84] 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

Strange as it may seem, the Tuareg is of the 
white race, and, were it not for the fierce exposure 
to sand-storm and desert sun, these swarthy 
children of nature would undoubtedly count 
many of a Saxon fairness among them. In their 
veins flows the blood of Berber ancestry, and in 
their language is preserved the purest speech of 
that tongue. The ancestors of these tribes were 
likely the most liberty-loving of that independent 
race, and probably, rather than be subjugated, 
they retreated into the vast spaces of the Great 
Desert. Here, at certain centres, they have 
towns built under the shade of the towering date- 
palms of the oases; but most of their life, often 
without food and shelter, is spent on the march; 
a wild sally here on a caravan, or a fierce on- 
slaught there into an enemy's territory from their 
borders, then the rapid retreat and the dividing 
of the loot. 

They seem to have drawn their religion from 
the countries bordering the north and south of 
their territory, for it embodies certain forms 
of Mohammedanism of their Arab neighbors, 
combined with more or less of the fetichism of 
the Sudanese. Their daily life is a defying of 
the deathlike wastes, and it is but natural that 

[85] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

the lonely vigil of night, the yellow gloom of the 
sand-storm, and all the mysterious phenomena 
of those deserts over which they roam, should be 
associated by these people with the jinn and 
evil spirits with which their legends and folk- 
lore abound. , 

"'Never promise more than half of what you 
can perform,'' runs a Tuareg proverb, and trav- 
ellers and French army officers have claimed 
for the Tuareg steadfastness of character, the de- 
fence of a guest, and the keeping of promises. 
This, however, was not borne out in three 
instances where small bands of the White 
Fathers [French missionaries] relied upon the 
Tuaregs' word for a safe escort, only to be mur- 
dered when far on their journey; nor in the case 
of the Flatters Expedition, which left southern 
Algeria to study questions of railway communi- 
cation across the Sahara. This ill-fated company 
left Ouargla, Algeria, about a hundred strong — 
French native tirailleurs, Arab guides, and camel 
drivers enough to attend to the caravan of some 
three hundred camels all told. Attached to the 
party were a number of Tuaregs. Week after 
week they toiled in measured march south, 

passed Amgid, and entered the very heart of the 

[86] 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

Hoggar country. Here they were led into a 
Tuareg ambush. Those who escaped took up, 
without adequate transport or provisions, a fear- 
ful retreat over their trail, harassed by Tuaregs 
and dying from starvation, sickness, and ex- 
haustion. Every Frenchman succumbed, and at 
last four survivors, covering a distance of fifteen 
hundred kilometers north, crept back to Ouargla. 

These incidents give a different side of Tuareg 
character, and are more in accord with the 
accounts I picked up in Tripoli. Nevertheless 
the Tuareg undoubtedly has many admirable 
qualities. 

Although polygamy is permitted by their law, 
it is said it is never practised; women hold 
property in their own right even after marriage. 
Most of their women can read and write, and, 
often pretty and delicate featured, they spend a 
part of their time within their tents of goat-skins 
or cameFs hair teaching their children. 

The Tuareg social system is on a well-organ- 
ized basis; in it appear four distinct strata of 
society: the Nobles who are the pure-blooded 
Tuaregs ; the Iradjenatan, half-blooded descend- 
ants of Nobles and their vassals; serfs, hereditary 
descendants of weaker tribes or of freed slaves, 

[87] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

who, often banding together, go out on foraging 
affairs of their own, passing Hke mysterious phan- 
toms over the sands. In the small hours of the 
morning they come down with a rush on some 
unsuspecting douar [village]. Sunrise finds them 
miles away, red-handed with their loot. Lastly 
are the Bellates, or Black slaves, who become 
much attached to their masters, often refusing 
their freedom when offered, preferring to retain 
their Tuareg citizenship rather than seek their 
homes in the Sudan. The Tuaregs resort to the 
same method of branding their slaves as do the 
Arabs — slashing out strips of flesh from the 
calves, cheeks, or temples. 

One stifling morning in mid- July a surprise 
awaited me. Only the noise of a disconsolate 
camel or the drone of some drowsy insect among 
the courtyard plants of my lokanda drifted on 
the heated air. I paused a moment on the thresh- 
old, as we are wont to do, perhaps through 
primeval instinct, then stepped out into the nar- 
row, sun-baked street. Just ahead of me another 
crossed it, cleaving its way between the white- 
walled Arab houses. My ear caught the soft 
scuff of sandalled feet, a white garment flapped 
out from beyond a corner stone, then two tall 

[88] 




be 
a; 

3 



T3 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

figures swung suddenly around the corner. 
Tuaregs! There was no doubting it, for their 
faces w^ere masked behind the dark litham [veil 
mask], through whose open slit two pairs of eyes 
looked catlike and fixedly at me — then we passed. 

Giving them barely time to get beyond my 
lokanda, I ran for my camera and into the street 
again, but the Tuaregs had disappeared. They 
could not have gone far, and being strangers in 
the town, would not have entered any Arab 
house. My surmise that they had turned down 
a street leading to the bazaar quarter of the town 
proved true and I was soon following in their wake. 

Draped gracefully over their lean, supple 
figures, in a way which a Roman pretor might 
have envied, was a light haik or kheikiy from 
which protruded the white sleeves of a gray Su- 
danese tunic. White kortehhas [trousers] reached 
to their feet, on which were lashed their ghatemin^ 
sandals of tooled leather, secured by crossed raw- 
hide thongs passing between the toes and secured 
at the ankles. 

One carried a long spear, and crosswise over 
his back a beautifully proportioned two-edged 
sword hung in a richly worked sheath ; the other 
bore an Arab flint-lock, and up the sleeve I knew 

[89] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

each concealed a wicked knife. They shortly 
turned into the trellis-covered Suk-el-Turc, and 
at a call from an Arab stopped before the small 
wall opening of a shop. 

Only round golden spots of sunlight percolated 
through the heavy clustered vines and purple 
fruit and scintillated on their copper bead neck- 
laces and silver amulet cases; but the narrow, 
crowded mart was too dark to risk a shot with 
my camera, for I must insure the success of my 
first attempt, before their suspicions were aroused. 
From the covering of the booth of a Jewish sil- 
versmith I watched the transaction with interest. 

The Arab was bartering for their weapons, 
and, after Arab custom, transcribed his conver- 
sation in imagination on the palm of his hand 
with his index finger. Unlike the Arab, the 
Tuaregs seemed to disdain haggling over the 
price, and after an occasional low guttural grunt, 
by no means lacking in intonation, brought the 
trade to a sudden termination. One of them 
threw back the sleeve of his tunic and slipped the 
leather bracelet of a long knife scabbard from 
the wrist of his left arm. Handing scabbard and 
weapon to the Arab, he gathered up a handful of 
piasters and moved on with his companion. 

[90] 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

I slipped from my retreat, noted the Arab 
booth, and dodged after them for two hours as 
their path interlaced through the maze of tor- 
tuous streets, but no chance presented itself. 
Owing to my distinctive European dress and 
glaring white sun helmet, it behooved me to be 
doubly cautious both for the success of my under- 
taking and my safety. But I made the most of 
the opportunity to study carefully their appear- 
ance and manner. 

Both were men of tall stature, at least six feet 
in height, I should say. This was accentuated 
by their wiry, catlike figures and the style of 
their litham: a mask in two pieces with broad 
flaps, one crossing the forehead, the other the 
lower part of the face, suspended from the bridge 
of the clean-cut aquiline nose or just below it. 
They adopt this covering, it is said, to lessen the 
evaporation in throat and nostrils, and rarely 
remove it even when eating or in the presence of 
their families. Over the mask was wrapped, 
turban-wise, a piece of white material, the crown 
of the head being left bare. From this aperture, 
the tadilmus, a lock of black hair, projected 
skyward. 

They walked with an easy, even-paced lope, 

[91] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

swinging well from the hips, commencing the 
forward stride of one leg before the other heel had 
left the ground. Every motion of their supple, 
catlike bodies gave a sense of muscles trained 
to perfection. 

A glance showed them to be men inured to the 
most brutal hardship, in which the pitiless ex- 
tremes of rain and sand-storm, heat and cold, 
hunger and thirst, and the fortunes of war were 
but common episodes in the day's work. The 
Arabs of Tripoli treated them with the greatest 
respect; not once were they jostled by the passing 
many. Yet these nomads, stoical as they were, 
seemed by their guarded glance, not altogether 
at ease thus removed from their desert trails, and 
they viewed many things with simple curiosity. 

Such were these desert children who strode on 
ahead of me. Up one street, down another, past 
the Mosque of Dragut, the Mediterranean free- 
booter, then up my own street, the Arbar-Arsat. 
Here they were hailed by the one-eyed dealer in 
goods from the Sudan. 

Twice I felt sure they had noticed me. It was 
now high noon and the siesta time found us the 
only occupants of the sun-baked street. I was 
too near them to turn back, and as I neared the 

[92] 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

little booth where they had stopped their barter- 
ing for an instant they turned their shifty eyes upon 
me with a look that informed me that my morn- 
ing's work with them was at an end. 

Late that afternoon I joined Riley and the rest 
at the Turkish garden, and as we sat about one 
of the tables I recounted the morning's episode. 

^^Yes/' he remarked dryly, '^Salam told me 
that when marketing in the Suk-el-Turc this 
morning he noticed you following them. I sent 
him after you with some good advice, but you had 
gone. Why, man, you don't suppose for a 
moment that those beggars, who can trail a 
camel after a sand-storm has passed over his 
tracks and who can scent an enemy almost before 
he pokes his nose over the horizon, failed to de- 
tect you chasing after them in full sight — eh.^ 
They are Asgars, and what's more, they're 
Senusi." 

The Senusi were the most powerful and fanat- 
ical sect in Islam. Three-quarters of a century 
ago this powerful fraternity was founded by a 
sheik of that name, having for his end the purify- 
ing of Moslemism and the extermination of the 
infidel. Tripoli, and Bengazi, down the coast, 
were at one time the centres of his field of opera- 

[93] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

tions; but now Wadai, in the Central Sudan, is its 
headquarters. The Senusi, so far as I know, 
wear nothing by which they may be distinguished 
as do many of the other Mohammedan sects, and 
every member is sworn to secrecy. 

Its injQuence is so powerful, yet so intangible, 
that it is a difficult influence for the invading 
Christian nations to deal with, as France has 
found to her cost. To the Senusi has been attrib- 
uted the cause of some of the most violent up- 
risings and oppositions against the invasion of 
the French in the Sahara. Not only the Asgars, 
but the Kelowi are strong adherents of this sect, 
particularly those residing in Air and Ghat. It 
is said that the plot against the Flatters Expedi- 
tion has been laid at the door of the sect. 

''How did you know they were in town?" I 
continued. 

''Why, half of Tripoli knows it. Tuaregs 
enter a suk or town for one of three reasons — to 
trade, to buy camels, or to spy out information 
regarding an outgoing caravan. Generally they 
don't bring enough stuff to load down a month- 
old camel, and they certainly don't pay Tripoli 
prices for camels, when they can lift them on the 
trail. So draw your conclusions, as the caravan 

[94] 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

men and merchants draw theirs. These Asgars 
will probably hang around the Suk over market 
day or perhaps longer, keeping an eye on the 
number of camels purchased, and loaf around 
the rope shops and other places of caravan out- 
fitters, picking up any stray bit of gossip which 
may drift their way. Of course, they may be 
honest, but the chances are even. Don't repeat 
your game of this morning with Senusi Tuaregs," 
continued my friend, as we parted at the Street 
of the Milk Sellers' Market. 

The following morning, before the sunlight on 
the neighboring minarets and housetops had 
changed from rose to gold, found me at the Arab 
shop in the Suk-el-Turc. There, in a dark 
corner on a pile of old silks, lay the long Tuareg 
teleks [daggers]. 

'' Gadesh .^'' I inquired. The Tripoline named 
his price, and I took the coveted weapons back 
to my lokanda. 

The dagger is the Tuareg's main weapon, and 
has two unique characteristics. Attached to its 
scabbard is a broad leather ring through which 
are passed the left hand and wrist; the knife lies 
flat against the inner side of the arm, its handle 
grasped by the hand, for the Tuareg evidently 

[95] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

goes on the principle that '*a knife in the hand is 
worth two in the belt.'' 

Strangely paradoxical to all the symbolism 
which plays so important a part in the religion 
of the orthodox Mohammedan, is the character 
of the telek handle, for it is in the form of the 
cross, the symbol of the hated Nazarenes. A 
number of theories have been advanced by way 
of explanation, but the most reasonable and sub- 
stantiated seems to be that it is a relic of the time 
when this people were Christians, during the 
Roman era, before they were driven from their 
more northern habitations by the Arabs. The 
cross is also found in Tuareg ornaments, and in 
the handle shapes of their two-edged war swords. 

I would venture an opinion, however, that 
these weapons have no religious significance 
whatever to the Tuareg, but were patterned after 
the cross-hilted, double-edged swords of the in- 
vading Crusaders, for not only did the Crusader 
land on the heights of Carthage and other points 
along the North African coast, but for a number 
of years Tripoli itself was occupied by the 
Knights of St. John, who came in touch there 
with the nomadic desert tribes. They must have 
left many a graven crucifix, sword, shield, and 

[96] 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

rosary on the field of battle, and as part of the 
loot of the Moslem soldiery when the defenders 
of the cross were driven from Tripoli by Soliman 
the Magnificent. 

The one-eyed Sudanese dealer had bearded 
these tiger-cats in their dens in the oasis and had 
come back to the town with a bow and quiver 
full of their steel-pointed arrows and two goat- 
skin pillows. The last were ornamented with 
black and red dye, and from their surfaces small 
strips and squares had been cut out, producing an 
attractive geometric design. These leathers, filled 
with straw or grass, serve the Tuaregs as cushions 
when on camel-back, or as pillows in their tents. 
The arrows were wonderfully balanced, having 
a delicate shaft of bamboolike wood, and the 
vicious-looking barbed points were beautifully 
designed. It is said that the Tuaregs do not 
poison their arrows, but the one-eyed Sudanese 
handled them carefully and cautioned me against 
pricking myself with the barbs. 

Later in the morning found me in the Suk, 
camera in hand. This time I risked the sun and 
substituted for my pith helmet a straw hat, to 
draw less attention to myself. For an hour I 
meandered about, searching through the narrow 

[97] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

channel ways of the Suk, banked with produce 
and handicraft articles of town and country. 

I had almost despaired of again setting eyes on 
the Asgars, when, as I rounded the tent of a 
dealer in goat-skin water buckets, there were the 
Tuaregs — three of them — all squatting before the 
tattered tent of a Black, eating ravenously of 
roasted fodder corn. 

This time I would let them cross my path, and 
I waited unobserved under the shadow of the 
wall of the Haifa Suk. 

Having gorged themselves, they crossed the 
market. I anticipated them first at one point, 
then at another. Either they turned aside before 
reaching me, their faces were in the shadow, or 
some Arab exasperatingly blocked my view. 
Then they headed for the camel market, so I hur- 
ried by a circuitous route and arrived begrimed 
and perspiring at the farther end of a long line of 
camels. Examining a camel here and there, 
they gradually worked their way toward me. 

The third Tuareg was evidently a serf, for he 
wore a white litham. He carried a long, grace- 
fully shaped lance, which I would have liked to 
buy, but an experience of trying to buy a 
hauberk from a Riffian in Morocco had taught 

[98] 



u 




I 



" From the near side of a camel, I took the picture " 



THE MASKED TUAREGS 

me better than to attempt, as a Christian, to buy 
a weapon offhand from men who live by the 
sword. A few yards more and they would be 
near enough. The sun flooded full upon them, 
and their amulets containing their charms dan- 
gled and sparkled in the light. Two were intent 
upon a camel to the right; the other, as he came 
straight toward me, turned his head for an instant 
to the left. Stepping quietly from the near side 
of the camel, I took the picture, and knew that 
the ''white man's magic'' had not failed me. 
Turning my head quickly, I directed my gaze 
thoughtfully afar off. 

''Ugurra!" snarled one of the Tuaregs, and he 
menacingly flipped from his left arm the fold of 
his haik, revealing on his wrist, just below his 
dagger band, a heavy stone of jade or serpentine, 
an ornament, it is claimed, they use in fighting. 
The other two turned instantly, and for a 
moment all the ferocity of their animal natures 
seemed to leap through their eyes. Their gaze 
shifted from mine to the mysterious black box 
beneath my arm. 

"Ugurra!" 

Then they turned and glided stealthily along their 
way out into the desert from whence they came. 

[99] 



CHAPTER SIX 

THE DISCOVEEY OF THE UNITED STATES FRIGATE 
*' PHILADELPHIA'' 

FROM time immemorial the Mediterranean 
has been the arena of naval strife and 
piracy. Men chained to the galley thwarts, ex- 
hausted and broken in spirit, have suffered under 
the heat and cold, and writhed in anguish under 
the lash of Pagan, Mohammedan, and Christian. 
But against the long horizon of its history — ^from 
the American view-point — one wave looms very 
high, on whose crest is a burning frigate, and high 
above her mast-heads we trace through the saf- 
fron smoke clouds a name — Decatur. 

On the eastern end of Tripoli's water front, 
formerly one long line of fortifications, rises the 
Bashaw's Castle, its thick walls towering over the 
harbor some ninety feet above their sea-washed 
foundations. 

By the courtesy of Redjed Pasha I saw some- 
thing of the interior of this ancient pile, which 

[100] 



THE FRIGATE "PHILADELPHIA" 

enclosed within its walls a little village of its own. 
Passing from large open courts of elaborately 
colored tiles, through labyrinthine secret ways to 
the prison, I mounted its high terraced ramparts. 
Rounding over me, the great dome of unbroken 
blue stretched away to meet the darker mirror 
surface of water. 

To the north-east, parallel to the shore, extends 
a dangerous line of rocks, now poking their 
jagged surfaces through the dark blue of the bay, 
now disappearing under its waters. It was on 
these hidden crusted tops, three miles east of the 
harbor entrance, that the grating keel of the 
United States frigate Philadelphia first warned 
Captain Bainbridge that they were aground. The 
guns having been hove overboard, her defence- 
less condition compelled her surrender that after- 
noon, October 31, 1803. 

Much of my time in Tripoli during the summer 
of 1904 was spent in efforts to obtain data relating 
to the capture and destruction of the Philadelphia 
by Lieutenant Decatur in command of the ketch 
Intrepid — not only for its local significance, but 
also with a view to locating the wreck. I ques- 
tioned representatives of the European govern- 
ments in the town, waded through countless 

[101] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

j&les of oflBcial documents, dusty consular reports, 
and private journals, but for many weeks my 
search proved fruitless. Hearing finally that in 
the dibriamim [local records] of the Jewish 
synagogue an attache of the French consulate 
had once found certain valuable historical data, 
I determined, if possible, to investigate these 
archives. Consequently, a meeting with Rabbi 
Mordecai Kohen, librarian of the synagogue, was 
arranged by the acting British consul, Mr. 
Alfred Dickson. 

On July 14, in company with Tayar, a young 
interpreter, I found the rabbi buried in a pile 
of old books in the library of the synagogue. 
Touching his hand to his forehead, he welcomed 
us ; then brought from a dark corner a musty old 
book on magic and science and a glass sphere on 
which he had pasted paper continents. These 
proved to be his two greatest treasures, which he 
exhibited with all the unconcealed glee and pride 
of a child. Then, drawing from a shelf a small 
volume and a manuscript, he led the way to the 
British consulate, where, in company with Mr. 
Dickson, we seated ourselves about a table in a 
cool north room, and the rabbi proceeded to 
decipher the brief facts. 

[102] 



THE FRIGATE "PHILADELPHIA" 

He had donned his best attire, consisting of a 
pair of yellow slippers, an under layer of loose 
Oriental trousers, and several vests, covered by a 
dilapidated European overcoat, which he wore 
only on occasion. Surmounting all this was his 
greasy fez, wrapped in a tightly twisted blue 
turban, which he removed only on occasion and 
never unwound ; turban and fez by force of habit 
had become a sort of composite capital which 
adorned his partially bald head. His deepset 
eyes cast furtive glances from time to time as he 
read first from the small volume, then from the 
manuscript. 

The book proved to be a modern Turkish pub- 
lication in Arabic entitled a '"History of Tripoli 
in the West," and briefly mentioned the circum- 
stance of the burning of an American war-ship 
in the harbor. The manuscript was a local 
history compiled by himself from the papers and 
journals of an old rabbi, Abram Halfoom, who 
had lived in Tripoli most of his life and died in 
Jerusalem some eighty years ago. It contained 
information covering the period of our war with 
Tripoli and revealed a few new details concerning 
the Philadelphia. Transmitted through three 

interpreters, I failed to get at the real Hebraic 

[103] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

point of view of the writer. It briefly stated, 
however, that Yusef Bashaw was a bad ruler, 
had equipped a number of corsairs, and that the 
crews of the captured vessels were sold like sheep. 
His captains, Zurrig, Dghees, Trez, Romani, and 
El-Mograbi, set sail from Tripoli and shortly 
sighted an American vessel. Zurrig left the 
others and daringly approached the ship, annoy- 
ing her purposely to decoy her across the shoals. 
She stranded, but fired on the other vessels 
until her ammunition gave out, whereupon the 
Moslems pillaged her. The American Consul * 
was very much disheartened and tried to con- 
clude arrangements similar to those recently 
made between the Bashaw and the Swedish 
Consul; but such an enormous tribute was de- 
m.anded that no terms could be reached, so by 
order of the Bashaw the vessel was burned.^ 
From time to time the corsairs brought in several 
American merchantmen. Soon the American 
squadron arrived, blockaded the harbor for 

^ Rabbi Halfoom evidentiy mistook Mr. Nissen for the American 
consul, but we had none at the time. Mr. Nissen was the Danish 
consul, and voluntarily acted as agent for the American prisoners, 
and happened to occupy the house formerly used as the United 
States Consulate. 

*This, of course, was an erroneous idea. It may have been 
purposely circulated through the town, particularly among the in- 
habitants other than Mohammedans. 

[ 104 ] 



THE FRIGATE "PHILADELPHIA" 

twenty days, and bombarded the Tripolitans, who 
returned their fire and did great damage. 

Such were the first gleanings of my search 
for local traditions concerning this event which 
made such a profound impression in both Eu- 
rope and America, and which Lord Nelson 
said was ^^the most bold and daring act of the 
age.'' 

More specific results came through a chance 
acquaintance. During my wanderings through 
the maze of narrow alleys within the walls of 
Tripoli I fell in with an old Arab, Hadji-el- 
Ouachi, from whose combination of lingua 
Franca and broken English I gathered much 
information. During one drowsy siesta time, 
as we sat over the muddy Turkish coffee in the 
shady spacious court of my lokanda, I questioned 
him regarding the lost frigate. 

El-Ouachi stimulated his recollections with a 
pinch of snuff. 

"There is a tradition among my people," he 
said, "that many years ago there came to Tripoli 
a big American markab harbi [ship of war], and 
when I was young, like you, Arfi, one Hadji- Ali, 
an old man, told me that the Americans came 
at night and burned her in the harbor and she 

[105] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

sank by the Lazaretto near the end of the Mole 
toward the sea/' 

''But are there no old men now among you 
who saw this ship?" I asked, by way of testing 
the accuracy of his knowledge. 

*'Lah!'' He shook his head. "For that was 
in the days of my fathers. Then the Arabs were 
a strong people ! But I have a friend, old Hadji- 
Mohammed Gabroom, whose father often told 
him about it. If we find him now at his coffee 
off the Suk-el-Turc, he may tell us. Shall we go ? " 

Passing out into the hot glare of the early after- 
noon, a few minutes walk brought us to the Suk, 
where, just before one enters the Street of the 
Tailors, and the shops of the workers in silver 
and brass, we came to a small coffee booth. 
Here, back in the farthest corner, wrapped in the 
numerous folds of his brown baracan, squatted 
Hadji-Mohammed Gabroom, a dried-up, sinewy 
old man, stroking his scraggly beard and sucking 
at a long pipe-stem. Looking out from under 
the heavy overhanging brows, and almost lost in 
the wrinkles of his tanned, sun-parched face, a 
pair of black beady eyes glittered like two sand 
beetles. After several salaams we drank of 
proffered coiffee and El-Ouachi stated our mis- 

[106] 




" We came to a heap of . . . rust-eaten cannon ' 



THE FRIGATE "PHILADELPHIA" 

sion. The fascinating little eyes glowed like 
live coals, as with almost a look of hatred they 
searched me through. For a moment the fire 
died out of them and the old man seemed to lose 
the sense of his surroundings as though groping 
in the long-forgotten past. Then, in the slow, 
measured manner of the Arab chronicler, he 
spoke : 

"'Many times has my father told me the story 
thus: ^In the year of the Hegira, 1218, during 
awasit [the second ten days of the month] of the 
month Rajah, my son, the sails of strange ships 
are seen to the north where the Khafkan and 
Kliafikin [the eastern and western horizons] 
meet. The amtar [rains] have begun, the nights 
are cold, and few people walk abroad. In that 
time, there comes from Bengazi way an American 
ship, which chases a felucca with one mast gone. 
The Arab Rais [captain] knows many passages 
through the reefs and invites the big ship to 
follow where the water is shallow. Allah wills! 
and the big ship is aground. 

'''All the corsairs, feluccas, and many small 
boats filled with armed Arabs swarm around her, 
as on the Suk-el-Thalat when the market is held. 
The Americans fight with their small guns and 

[107] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

wound six of our people, but the Arabs are 
too many. Soon they capture the ship and bring 
many Nazarenes to the castle, and it is a great 
tarab [jubilee] in Tripoli. Yussef Bashaw puts the 
officers in a dungeon in the middle of the Castle, 
under the terrace. The sailors are bastinadoed 
and driven like the black mamluks [slaves] ; they 
are empty of wallets, apparent of poverty and 
destitution, with no means of sustenance save the 
loaves of black bread given them by their mas- 
ters. In the cold water for many days these 
Nazarenes shovel sand from a wreck, by the Suk- 
el-Thalat, build up the broken places in the 
Castle, and carry heavy loads. 

*^^The Arabs bring the big ship from the rocks 
of Bogaz-el-Kebir [theBig Harbor] and anchor her 
off the Fort and Lazaretto. While the people loot 
her, from his small boat, one Bushagour, an Arab 
sailor, sees a white thing in a big gun, and finds 
two bags of silver medjidies [probably Spanish 
dollars] ; he puts them back quickly. When the 
night is black he takes again the money in his 
boat, buries it in the sand near where lies the 
liazaretto, and goes back to the big ship, where he 
is a guard ; three days later he buys unto himself 
two houses. 

[108] 



THE FRIGATE "PHILADELPHIA" 

^^'We bring the guns of the Nazarenes from 
the water, and make the ship look like new, and 
put our corsairs close around her. She lies off 
the Castle in the harbor many days, with the red 
crescent flag of our people floating over her. 
Those who dwell in the gardens outside the city 
and in the wadan take little boats to look at her. 
At Ramadan they unfurl the green flag of the 
Prophet from the mast-head, and her guns tell 
the faithful that the days of fasting are over and 
they are to prepare for the feast of Beiram. 

^^^Yussef Bashaw asks much money from this 
new nation, but Sheik Hadji Mohammed Bet-el- 
Mal tells Yussef that these American people will 
not let him keep the ship long. Yussef Karamauli 
only laughs and tells the Sheik he talks like a 
woman. Yussef Bashaw feels very safe because 
the town is full of armed Arabs and all the forts 
and corsairs are manned, with guns loaded. I, 
my son, am stationed at the Bab-el-Bahah [the 
Gate by the Sea], and sometimes at the Inner 
Gate by the Castle. I keep my best flints in my gun 
and leave its lock-cover in my house. We feel so 
safe that only ten Arabs are left to guard the ship. 

"^Many days pass and the days of Rama- 
dan are over. In awasit of the month Dzul 

[109] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

ca'da of the Hegira 1219 we fear an attack, for 
we see strange sails when the sun is high; I am 
a special guard at the gate of the Castle. One 
evening, shortly after the sun has gone down in 
the land of the west, there is seen a ketch standing 
into the harbor. We think she brings goods from 
Malta, but on her deck are American men dressed 
like the Maltese and her hold is full of men. 
They know the gates of the city are shut, and that 
the Rais-el-Kebir [Captain of the Port] will not 
give them practique [quarantine clearance] until 
the morning. Long after the muezzin has called 
the faithful to prayer, and the city sleeps, out 
of the stillness of the darkness a great cry comes 
over the water. They attack and slay certain of 
our guards in the big ship, the rest flee in fear for 
themselves. They start fires with gourds and 
bottles filled with spirit and oil. Suddenly flames 
like the tongues of evil spirits rise from the 
American ship. These Americans have wise 
heads; when they lose their ship, they lose it to 
everybody. 

"'Our town is soon in great confusion. Men 
cry aloud, our women screech, and the great 
cannons from the Castle ramparts boom. Many 
think the Castle is fallen. Everybody runs into 

[110] 




THE FRIGATE "PHILADELPHIA'* 

the streets with his gun ; some rush into the gar- 
dens at the back of the town, only to meet many 
coming in from the country and Bedawi village 
camps. I climb on a housetop better to see this 
matter, and with me is old Mohammed-el- 
Ouayti. Soon many hundreds of people pour in 
from the Black village at Sciara-el-Sciut and 
from Tajura and Zanzour. Below us the people 
are rushing through under the Inner Gate of the 
Bab-el-Bahah, crowding to the water front to 
meet the enemy, like a great wadi rushing to 
the sea. 

" ' Together we watch the fire of the ship. She 
begins to burn first in the middle; then much 
powder explodes. The great smoke cloud spreads 
its wings like some evil bird over the harbor and 
soars to the upper regions of the darkness, its red 
talons always taking something from the face of 
the earth, which it carries toward the outer sea. 
The Nazarenes, fearing for themselves, turn back 
in flight, and we watch their ketch disappear in 
the darkness through Bogaz Jeraba out to the 
Middle Sea. Soon the harbor is light as day and 
redder than the sands of the Sah-ra [Sahara] 
when the sun is low in the west. When the 
breath of Allah blows back now and again, the 

[111] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

big tongues change their course and Hck out at 
the Castle, making its walls and ramparts red 
as blood, like some monster dragon as it spits 
back its fire guns. 

'''For three days the ship burns and the sky at 
night is like this brass on the handle of my 
khanijar [dagger]. Garflas afar off on the desert 
see it — ^yea, even plenty of people see it from be- 
yond the Jebel Tarhuna, Fassato, and the farther 
Jebel, four days' journey as the camel travels. 
For many years after this she yields her iron and 
brass to the Arab and Maltese fisherman; for 
everything that is an object of search resteth 
not. Such is the story of the Nazarene ship. 
Know, then, what I tell thee, my son, and keep 
it in thy memory. Allah wills ! Allah is great ! ' ' ' * 

The old hadji tapped the kief out of his pipe, 
slid off the seat into his slippers, and reefing up 
his skirts about him, mounted his small donkey 
and disappeared down the Suk. 



^ It has been a much-mooted question whether it would have 
been possible to take the Philadelphia from the harbor. Decatur, 
however, had no choice. "Proceed to Tripoli in company with the 
Siren under Lieutenant Stewart," read Preble's orders, "enter that 
harbor in the night, board the Philadelphia^ burn her, make good 
your retreat with the Intrepid.'* One thing is certain, the chances 
were evidently against the success of such an undertaking, as must 
be evident to any one who has actually been over the ground. I do 
not believe it would have been possible under the circumstances. 

[112] 



THE FRIGATE "PHILADELPHIA" 

In response to my inquiry in regard to the 
houses bought by Bushagour, I followed El- 
Ouachi as he clumped along through the Suk-el- 
Turc. Reaching its northern end we passed east 
of the Arch of Marcus Aurelius and ascended the 
street which follows the base of the remaining 
fortifications, known as the Battery, between the 
Castle and the Molehead. We soon came to an 
iron heap of discarded rust-eaten cannon. On 
one of these El-Ouachi seated himself. Above 
him was a simple broad expanse of sunlit 
wall, broken only by its arched portal and 
the edges of its crenelated profile vibrating in 
the intense heat of an African summer after- 
noon. 

"These old guns, Arfi," he said as he shifted 
his baracan over his left shoulder, ''were on this 
fortress in the days of my fathers, and threw their 
iron balls at the American frigate as she lay off 
the Castle. After she burned, some of her guns 
were mounted on these very walls and used 
against an American fleet." 

He presently led the way a short distance up a 
narrow street, stopping in front of two plain- 
walled houses. Years of accumulated rubbish 
had perceptibly raised the level of their thresholds 

[113] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

and the dirt dado of the outer walls, so that to 
enter one must descend. 

"These houses, Arfi," he continued, "this one 
with the hand print over the door to keep off the 
'evil eye,' and the one next, Bushagour bought 
with the two bags of money. Within their walls 
each has a large court and good rooms. His 
children's children live here now, but we cannot 
enter, for the women are there, and these people 
like not the Christians. Some years ago there 
was a great explosion in this fortification where 
the powder was stored, the walls of the whole 
town were shaken, part of this fortress was 
broken in many places, houses fell and people 
died, but these fell not.'' 

As we reached the Bab-el-Bahah, El-Ouachi 
pointed his lean, henna-stained finger in the 
direction of the remains of the Mole. 

" Beyond the Molehead, Arfi, the tradition of my 
people says, the wreck of the big American corsair 
liesr' 

Following this clue, early the next morning, 
July 12, before the usual forenoon breeze could 

* On my return to the United States I investigated the original 
data relating to the capture and burning of the Philadelphia^ and 
further corroborated the Arab tradition from original and official 
sources; from the reports of Commodore Preble, who issued the 
orders to destroy the frigate; Lieutenant Decatur and Midshipman 

[114] 




> 
o 

o 



si 
si 

o 

g 

o 



0) 

> 



-73 

a 
o 



THE FRIGATE " PHILADELPHIA '^ 

blur the glassy surface of the harbor, I was at 
the sailors' coffee-house near the boat builders' 
ways, where by arrangement I met Riley, Mr. 
Venables, an English missionary, and a Maltese 
fisherman. Equipped with grapples, lines, and a 
maria [a bucket with a glass bottom] we seated 
ourselves on the dirty thwarts of the clumsy 
craft, and were pulled to the vicinity where Arab 
tradition said the wreck of the frigate lay. Using 
the maria, for a light breeze had ruffled the placid 
surface of the water, the boat was rowed slowly 
over the ground, describing large spirals, as from 
time to time we set new starting-points. As I 
eagerly gazed through the clear glass into the 
transparent depths, all the wonders of a sea 
garden passed beneath me; dark violet spots of 
ragged rocks lost themselves in patches of light 
sea-green sand, which threw into stronger relief 
an occasional shell-fish or schools of delicate 
little sea-horses. Beautiful forms of sponges, 
coral, anemone, and sea mosses opened and shut 
or gracefully waved, disturbed by some under- 
current or one of the shining iridescent fish, 

Morris, who carried them out, and [through the courtesy of Mr. James 
Barnes] from the journal of William Ray, one of the imprisoned 
crew of the Philadelphia^ who was in Tripoli at that time, and who, 
imder orders of his Tripoline captors, assisted in trying to clear the 
wreck of the Philadelphia after she was burned. 

[115] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

which, like some gorgeous spectrum, vibrated in 
unison with the grasses, or turning upward its 
scaly side, darted like a shaft of silvery light 
through the green and opalescent depths below. 

In less than an hour my search was rewarded 
by seeing the broken ends of the great ribs of a 
vessel protruding through dull-colored eel-grass. 
I noticed that this grass seemed to follow the line 
of the ribs, and carefully noted its character, to 
further aid me in my search. Examining these 
closely, no doubt was left in my mind but that 
they belonged to a large vessel, and I ordered the 
boatman to let fall the rough stone which served 
as an anchor. The lead gave us two and a half 
and three fathoms. 

Hastily undressing, we dived several times. 
Riley first succeeded in buoying the spot by going 
down with the line and slipping it over one of the 
ribs. While on the bottom I carefully examined 
the timbers. These were honeycombed in cer- 
tain parts in a peculiar way. The continual 
sea swash of a century seemed to have made its 
inroads at the softest places, and they gave every 
appearance, in form, of partially burned stumps. 
The wood seemed almost as hard as iron. Much 
of it was enclosed in a fossil crust, and only by 

[116] 



THE FRIGATE "PHILADELPHIA" 

repeated efforts I succeeded in breaking off a 
small piece. The many winds from the Desert 
and the shifting shoals of sand had filled in and 
around the frigate, and her keel must have lain 
buried nearly two fathoms deeper than the pres- 
ent sea bottom. The freshening breeze made 
further investigation impossible; so after taking 
bearings and leaving the spot buoyed, we re- 
turned to the shore, landing amid an awaiting, 
curious crowd of Turks, Arabs, and Blacks. 

Six days later, through the courtesy and inter- 
est of the officers of the Greek war-ships Crete and 
Paralos, a ship's cutter and machine boat with 
divers were placed at my disposal. On this 
second expedition my principal object was to 
determine more carefully the size, position, and 
location of the wreck, which are given on the 
chart reproduced on the next page. 

My third and last expedition was on the morn- 
ing of August 3. The divers managed with pick 
and axe to break off pieces of her fossilized sides, 
and from her partly buried timbers brought to 
the surface an eighteen-pound cannon-ball,^ 
together with part of the wood in which it was 

^ This solid shot corresponded in diameter to the bore of some of 
the discarded guns at the Battery and was found in the port side 
forward. It is now in the Naval Museum at Annapolis. 

[117] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

embedded. The ball and adjoining wood were 
completely incrusted with an inch of fossil matter. 
Several other pieces of wood brought up con- 







I 



Map of the Town and Harbor of Tripoli 

A — Position of the Philadelvhia when attacked by Decatur. Dot and dash 
lines indicate the course of the Intrepid on entering and leaving the harbor Feb- 
ruary 16th, 1804. Heavy dotted lines indicate the Philadelphia's course as she 
drifted after being fired. 

B — Present position of the Philadelphia. Long dash lines indicate her bearings. 



tained iron bolts, also copper nails, which prob- 
ably held down the sheeting below the water- 
line of her hull. There her skeleton timbers will 

[118] 



THE FRIGATE "PHILADELPHIA" 

lie until obliterated by the Desert sand shoals, the 
quiet work of the shell-fish, and the myriad small 
creatures of the sea. 



[119] 



CHAPTER SEVEN 

THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

/^F Tripoli's principal industries three stand 
^^ out pre-eminently — sponge gathering, es- 
parto picking, and the trans-Saharan caravan 
trade through which the principal resources re- 
spectively of sea, coast, and Desert, including the 
Sudan, are made marketable exports. Besides 
these, great quantities of cattle [in good years], 
eggs, mats, old silver, woollen cloths, and other 
local products are shipped annually, going mainly 
to Great Britain, France, Turkey, Italy, Malta, 
Tunis, and Egypt. One article only, Sudan 
skins, finds its way to the United States, which 
supply depends upon the security of the trade 
routes. These skins go to New York for the 
manufacture of a cheap grade of gloves or shoes. 
Tripoli Harbor affords better protection to 
vessels than many on the North African coast; 
but because of dangerous reefs and shoals it 
is a most difficult harbor to enter, particularly 

[120] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

in stormy weather, for the Mediterranean is as 
varying in her moods as are those peoples who 
inhabit her shores. Under the gentle zephyrs 
and clear skies of summer she is as peaceful as 
Hadji under his awning in yonder Suk; but in 
winter, when, under the spirit of the north wind, 
she comes ripping, lashing southward, foaming 
down in a seething froth on the reef-lined shores 
of Barbary, she is as wild and fanatical as some 
mighty horde of Moslems driven by the spirit of 
the Jehad. 

Off some of the Barbary ports vessels fre- 
quently lie for weeks awaiting fair weather 
before they can discharge their cargoes, and the 
list of casualties for the amount of shipping off 
the North African coast must be large. In 1904, 
543 sailing vessels and 271 steamers entered 
Tripoli Harbor. Some of the risks which these 
vessels incur in these waters may be noted from 
the following, which I quote from two letters 
received from Tripoli. The author writes: 

On Wednesday, December 6 [1905] at 6.25 p. m., we were 
at the Turkish Club as usual. I saw a rocket go up . . . and 
said, "There is the S. S. Syrian Prince . . . expect me home 
when you see me" . . . went aboard and stayed there until 
Sunday, December 10th . . . threw overboard about 620 tons of 
cargo and got her off at 1.35 a. m., Sunday. I had the salvage 
steamer Denmark here . . . towing at her . . . had five hours' 

[121] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

rest the whole time ... we all worked like devils to get her oflF 
before bad weather came on, . . . which did come twelve hours 
after, and one hour of it would have made a total wreck of her . . . 
have done nothing else but see into recovering the jettisoned 
cargo, selling it by auction and writing reports to Lloyds and the 
Salvage Co., London. Then a beautiful, three-masted steel 
barkentine of 220 tons has gone on the rocks at Zleiten down the 
coast, and this mean«s work. 

A following letter written shortly after this 
reads : 

Have had no time to write as I had a steam launch smashed 
up, and on December 22 [1905] a British steamer, the Colling- 
ham, got on a reef. Have salvage steamer here and am working 
day and night. . . . I got her off, . . . but she is badly damaged. 

Such is the record for one month off the port 
of Tripoli alone. 

The seaboard of Tripolitania can well afford 
to boast of its share of maritime destruction. 
The dangerous quicksands of the Major and 
Minor Syrtes of the ancients are in the bight of 
her coast-line: sands whose fatal suction, down- 
ward-drawing, has claimed many a Roman 
trireme, many a caravel and stately ship of the 
line, and many a modern vessel of steel. To the 
treacherous reefs off Tripoli harbor we owe the 
loss of the Philadelphia^ and it was off Tripoli, in 
a gale, that the United States Dry Dock Dewey y 
on her famous voyage to the Philippines, came 
near meeting disaster. 

[122] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

In Tunis, Algiers, and other ports in the two 
French North African colonies, good harbors 
have been constructed and vessels unload at the 
quays; but in Tripoli and Morocco all cargoes 
are transferred in lighters or galleylike row- 
boats, and little protection is offered vessels 
lying at anchor. Arabs on the whole are good 
sailors and are not lacking in courage. One 
Mediterranean captain told me that the best 
crew he ever had was made up of Moroccans — 
descendants perhaps of the old rovers of Salli 
and Rabat. 

When in the heavy Arab galleys, I never tired 
of watching the swarthy Islamites handle the 
mammoth sweeps. Barefooted, each man would 
clinch the thwart in front of him with his toes, 
rise with the loom of the oar to a standing posi- 
tion, then with a grunt throw himself back with 
all his supple strength. To "'catch a crab'' 
under these conditions was a serious matter. 
The way in which they handled these enormous 
sweeps was remarkable, forcing the ponderous 
galleys through the water at the rate they did. 
Many of the sweeps must have been over twenty 
feet in length. 

Some idea of the relative importance of Tripo- 

[123] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

li's leading exports may be obtained when one 
considers that in 1904, for instance, out of a 
total export trade of about $2,000,000, sponges 
amounted to $350,000 or over a fifth, esparto 
grass to $630,000 or over a third, and goods from 
the trans-Saharan caravan trade to $314,000 or 
over one-sixth. The other remaining three- 
tenths of her exports were comprised of the 
products of the oases and towns on or near 
the coast. 

The methods of gathering and marketing these 
three leading exports are as interesting as they 
are unique and hazardous, and the men engaged 
in them as picturesque and dirty as they are hard- 
working and fearless — the sponge diver on his 
restless sea of brine; the esparto picker in his 
waving sea of sun-dried grass ; the caravaneer on 
his shifting, burning sea of sand. 

In the eastern half of the Mediterranean, along 
the coast from Tunis to the Levant, including the 
islands of the ^gean Sea, stretch great regions 
of sponge colonies. Those extending for three 
hundred and fifty miles along the North African 
coast, from the Tunisian frontier to Misurata on 
the east, are known as the Tripoli grounds, and 
here with the last north winds of the rainy season 

[124] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

come the sponge fleets from the Greek Archi- 
pelago. I well remember the night at the Turk- 
ish Club that I obtained my first insight into the 
life of the Greek scaphander.^ A party of us, as 
usual, sat about one of the tables after tennis and 
throwing the discus by the shaded court under 
the southern lee of the town wall. 

Near by, the dark sapphire-blue walls of the 
ancient Castle of the Bashaws stood silhouetted 
against a west of yellow amethyst. Its great 
shadow had crept across the garden to where we 
sat, on over the dry bed of a neighboring wadi, 
finally lengthening across the Suk-el-Thalat, 
where the distant Arab houses stood out — a level 
golden line from the dusk shadows of the purple 
twilight. 

^*Yes, sewn up in a bag!" The speaker was 
one of the Greek naval oflScers. ^^It was in the 
Gulf of Sirte, two years ago," he continued. *^ A 
diver from one of the machine boats had gone 
down for sponges, and crawling over the bottom 
of the sea came upon a large bag. Perhaps the 
thought of sunken treasure caused him to rip 
open more hastily its half-rotten threads. . . . 

* Divers who use the scaphandra or machine [air-pump, suit, 
hehnet, and tube]. 

[125] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Well, there were two of them in it; both were 
found to have been sponge divers/' 

^'Buried at sea?" I queried. 

A peculiar smile played for a moment around 
the white teeth of the olive-skinned Greek. *^ Yes, 
but we could find no record of the burial!" 

*^And that case of the diver in a sponge boat 
off Derna ?'' added an Englishman. ^'Paralysis 
didn't creep fast enough, and he was only dead 
wood aboard, so they buried him alive in the hot 
sand of the Sahara. Even after he was dead 
some thieving Arabs stole his clothes." 

"'Well, there may be cases of foul play," the 
Greek admitted, ''yet they are insignificant com- 
pared with that deadly enemy of the scaphander 
—diver's paralysis. Why, out of the seven hun- 
dred scaphanders working on this coast, from 
sixty to a hundred die every year, and, sooner or 
later, hardly a man escapes from it in one form 
or another. Of course these conditions are due, 
in great part, to the ignorance and brutality of 
the men engaged in the industry. On the other 
hand, there have been captains from iEgina, 
who have been in business for fifteen years and 
have never lost a diver. With those two vessels 
in the bay yonder," and he waved his hand tow- 

[126] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

ard two white-painted craft, ''the hospital-ship 
Crete and the corvette Paralos and a sponge 
diver's hospital on shore, the Greek Government 
is doing everything possible to remedy the con- 
ditions. But, owing to the extensive area of the 
sponge grounds and other causes, it is almost im- 
possible to keep close watch and detect those 
who violate the laws." 

One bit of interesting information led to an- 
other: the common diver, who dives naked with 
a piece of marble and line, suffers only slight 
affections of the ears; with the scaphander or 
helmeted diver, the greatest danger occurs in the 
rapid ascent, producing sudden relief of pres- 
sure, dangerous symptoms appearing only when 
he emerges into the fresh air, generally shortly 
after the helmet is removed; and strange as it 
may seem, on the descent a partially paralyzed 
diver recovers the use of his limbs again and his 
circulation becomes normal. Many of them, in 
the prime of life paralyzed and crippled, unfit- 
ted for anything else, continue to drag themselves 
about at their wearisome work, believing the 
disease to be indispensable to the vocation. 

The generally accepted theory of diver's pa- 
ralysis is that the various vessels of the body are 

[127] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

contracted and the blood is driven from the cen- 
tral intestines, causing congestion, with or with- 
out hemorrhage, minute balls of air expanding 
and rupturing these vessels, the great danger oc- 
curring when the balls develop and last. They 
consist of azote [nitrogen] dissolving in the blood 
and becoming free when the pressure is with- 
drawn, sometimes preventing circulation in the 
lungs or, blocking it in the nervous system, pro- 
ducing local ansemia. If these balls of azote are 
large and many, death usually occurs through 
paralysis of the heart; when small they are car- 
ried by the circulation of the blood to the brain 
and medulla, causing paralysis in one or more 
of its multitudinous forms. Part of the cure is 
by immersion and gradual ascending, stopping 
one minute every five metres. 

The character of the phenomena of diver's pa- 
ralysis may be seen in the following instance: 

A scaphander, Michael Sygalos, descended to 
a depth of fifty-two metres, remaining below 
fifty minutes and making a very rapid ascent, 
descending again in an hour and a half to the 
same depth, where he remained for forty-five 
minutes, and again made a very rapid ascent, but 
felt no ill results. In an hour he descended once 

[128] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

more to the same depth, where he remained for 
thirty minutes, making for the third time a very 
rapid ascent. For a few minutes he felt no ill 
effects, but as the helmet was removed he was 
seized with a terrific dizziness and fell uncon- 
scious to the deck. Later he revived, feeling a 
congestion or pressure of blood, as it were, in his 
legs, preventing him from standing alone. This 
condition lasted until midnight when he was 
attacked by complete paralysis, losing all his 
senses and power of movement save the ability 
to slightly move his head. He lingered through 
the hot summer until the middle of August. 

Many paralytics are incurable, and death 
through paroxysms often results, though many 
are partially and some permanently cured. 

One hot day, not long after our talk at the 
Cafe, we stood out in one of the Crete s whale- 
boats under a small lug-sail to meet the deposit 
boat Panayea. Close-hauled, she bore down 
upon us, her rakish rig with big lateen sails and 
jib straining at every line and spar. On she 
came, painting two long diverging lines of foam- 
ing white on the sparkling blue. She crossed our 
bows, her great sails flapped, she came into the 
wind; and as she filled away I climbed aboard, 

[129] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

and we stood to the edge of the sponge grounds, 
which extend from five to twenty miles off the 
Tripoli coast. 

So began my acquaintance with the Greek 
sponge divers, whose day's work is the season's 
work and who, for six months of the year, from 
April to October, labor from sunrise to sunset, 
generally on a rough sea and under the scorch- 
ing rays of an African sun. 

We scudded by some small harpun [harpoon] 
boats and gangara [trawlers], near enough to the 
former to see their small crews, of from three to 
five men each, at work. They carefully exam- 
ined the sea bottom, sometimes to a depth of 
twenty metres, with a special glass of their own, 
and pulled up the marketable sponges with har- 
poons attached to the ends of long poles. The 
slightly larger gangara — the gargameleon of the 
ancients — slowly trawled for sponges, dragging 
their destructive nets along the bed of the sea to 
a depth of seventy-five metres, tearing and accu- 
mulating everything in their path. But these 
methods have practically been abandoned along 
this coast for the more productive grounds of 
Cyprus and Crete. 

A sponge fleet consists of the five and six ton 

[130] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

machine boats [trehanteria] which carry air- 
pumping machines and equipment [scaphandra], 
and which are divided into two classes, accord- 
ing to the quality of their divers' suits. A first- 
class boat is manned by twenty to twenty-two 
men, of whom ten are professional divers who 
descend from twenty-three to thirty fathoms. 
The second-class boat is manned by from four- 
teen to sixteen men, of whom five to seven are 
divers who descend from fifteen to twenty fath- 
oms. As the fleets keep to sea for two months at 
a time, every four machine boats are attended by 
one fifty to sixty ton deposit boat [deposita]. 
Aboard the deposit boat are stored the sponges, 
food, clothing, and other necessities; they also 
serve as sleeping quarters for some of the crews 
of the machine boats. Smaller supply boats 
[bakietta] communicate with shore, bring sup- 
plies from Greece and also men to take the places 
of those who have died. Some three thousand 
men work by scaphandra on the African coast. 

Attacks by ferocious fish have frightened away 
the ''common" divers, who dive naked with a 
piece of marble [scandli] and line. They dive 
with great rapidity, forty-five to over fifty me- 
tres, and usually remain below two minutes. 

[131] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Experts have stayed as long as four. The best 
divers are from Kalimno and Symi. A few years 
ago that hideous black creature, the dog-fish, 
bit a diver in two and desperately wounded sev- 
eral others. One of the most thrilling escapes 
ever recorded is that of a diver, who, as he de- 
scended, holding the scandli in front of him, en- 
tered the mouth of a large shark. The scandli 
being edgewise prevented the huge jaws from 
closing, and the diver with difficulty wriggled 
out and was hauled up. The shark, ejecting the 
scandli, pursued him to the surface, and was 
seen by those in the boat to leap for his prey as 
the crew hauled the diver aboard. By careful 
nursing the wounded man recovered from the 
long, deep scratches of the monster's teeth on his 
chest and back. Now virtually the scaphanders 
alone remain to claim the profits of the industry, 
the proceeds of which in a single year have 
amounted to almost a million dollars. 

Reaching the grounds, we were transferred to 
the machine boat El-Pish. The greater number 
of the sponge boats fly the Greek flag, and are 
manned by Greeks hailing mainly from the 
islands of Hydra and iEgina, while a few fly the 
crescent flag of the Ottoman Empire and come 

[132] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

from the Turkish islands of Kalimno, Symi, and 
Khalki in the Archipelago, whose crews are made 
up of subjugated Greeks from those islands. 

During the long, cold winter months the 
sponge fishers spend most of their time ashore in 
their island homes. ^Vhen the first balmy airs 
of the African spring are wafted across the Medi- 
terranean from the oleander-fringed wadis and 
oases of the Sahara, the little seaport towns of 
the sponge fishers bestir themselves, the last 
boats are put in commission, and the final con- 
tracts among owners, captains, and crews are 
drawn up. 

For equipment, provisions, and advance pay- 
ment of the crews, each captain is required to 
provide a capital of forty to sixty thousand 
drachmas — being approximately $12,000, but at 
present much depreciated. Capitalists advance 
this money at a rate of from two to three per 
cent, per month, for the season, which is deducted 
at once from the capital. The novice receives 
from three to seven hundred drachmas for the 
season, the experienced diver from one to three 
thousand. In some instances the diver shares in 
the profits, but it more often happens that his 
season's earnings are less than his advanced pay, 

[133] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

in which case he must work out the difference 
the next year. Should he be injured or disabled, 
his pay continues on the same basis, and in case 
of death his heirs receive his money. 

After the final haul is made and the sponges 
are sold, the commission to the Turks, who main- 
tain a war-ship here, is first taken out of the pro- 
ceeds, a third of the remainder goes to the cap- 
tain for ship's expenses and equipment, and from 
the remaining two-thirds must be taken the ex- 
pense for the provisions. Of the final balance, 
one and a half shares go to the captain and 
supervisor each, four shares to each diver, and 
one to each sailor. 

Not only to increase the proceeds, but to come 
out even on the outfit, the captains are obliged 
to treat the divers with great severity, and hire 
overseers who devise most brutal means of forc- 
ing them to fish at any cost. On the other hand, 
the divers give much cause for complaint. They 
come from all parts of Greece and the Archi- 
pelago; many are nondescripts who have never 
been sailors and are persuaded to go into this for 
easy gains, failing to realize the dangers of the 
life; for once they are injured or disabled by their 
arch enemy, diver's paralysis, they become un- 

[134] 




'' The bag of dark, heavy sponges . . . was hauled aboard " 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

fitted for any other work, and are provided for 
by the captains during the winter. 

The deck of the El-Pish, where I slept, save 
for its dirt and confusion, was not unHke that of 
the ordinary fishing schooner. At daybreak I 
threw off the dew-soaked canvas that served as 
my covering at night. A number of sponge 
boats disturbed the placid rose surface of the 
water; high up in the air several white gull forms 
overhead broke the tender blue, mingling their 
cries with the voices of the men and the creaking 
blocks. The first rays of the sun lit up the 
bronzed features of the overseer, as he stopped to 
examine the air-pump, in which are three cylin- 
drical, leather-lined compartments. Through 
these the air, is pumped to the diver below. The 
warmth of this air which is often blown from the 
heated sands of the Desert, is increased by fric- 
tion in the compartments, and is obviated by 
coolers supplied every half-hour with cold water. 
On the deck by his side was a rubber tube which 
must resist the pressure of twenty atmospheres, 
and is consequently re-enforced on the inside 
by coiled wire. 

Screwing one end of the tube to the air-pump 
and the other to the back of a heavy brass hel- 

[135] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

met, the overseer ordered the two sailors into the 
main-hatch, to *' stand by" the big pump wheels 
of the machine. On a board placed across the 
deck sat Basilio Pteroudiz, a diver, preparing for 
the descent. He had already donned the main 
garment, which was made of strong, double 
water-proofed cotton cloth, with an interlayer of 
rubber; around his neck was a collar of rubber, 
to which was attached the brass collar of the 
helmet; at his wrists, which were soaped to aid 
suction, the garment ended in tightly fitting 
rubber wristbands, and under his garment he 
wore heavy woollen underwear and socks. The 
buoyancy of the suit when inflated necessitated 
the addition of a seventeen pound lead weight 
attached to each shoe, while about his chest and 
back were fastened a ten and a seven pound 
weight respectively. 

With assistance he staggered to the forward 
rail, where a ladder hung by which the divers 
descend to the water. A sign from the overseer 
and the men gave way at the pumps, a sailor 
seized the helmet with its four glass windows, 
placed it over the head of Pteroudiz, screwed and 
bolted it to the brass collar. The suit at once be- 
came inflated as far as the waist, where a rope 

[136] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

was fastened. This with the tube was paid out, 
and taking a net sponge bag he descended over 
the side. Even with the extra hundred and 
seventy-five pounds of equipment it was some 
seconds before he was able to sink. The rope 
was held by the overseer, serving not only as a 
safeguard but also as a means of communica- 
tion. From time to time the overseer consulted 
the manometrom in the machine, which indicated 
the pressure of the air in the diver's suit, conse- 
quently his depth. 

I followed his sinking form, as the last glint of 
his shining helmet, radiating shafts of reflected 
light in all directions, disappeared into the obliv- 
ion of the mysterious depths. Crawling along 
the bottom, taking care not to wrench the weights 
from his feet, which would cause him to turn 
head downward, he searched among the wonders 
and beauties of the semitropical sea garden, and 
when he found a colony of the reddish-brown 
Tripoli sponge, signalled to the overseer, where- 
upon the spot was buoyed. Discarding among 
others the few black and worthless male sponges, 
he selected only the marketable sponges, the 
best of which he gathered from the rocks. Way 
above and over him, seen through the luminous 

[137] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

half-lights of the sunlit sea water, the fishlike 
shape of the El-Pish rocked on the surface; and 
as he sought new spots she followed him, her 
four huge finlike sweeps stirring and churning the 
water as though breaking and scattering myriads 
of jewelled braids. Sometimes the shadowy 
form of a huge shark or dog-fish glided danger- 
ously near him, notwithstanding the repeated 
piping of the air whistle on deck — though as yet 
their attacks have been confined to the common 
diver. 

In the helmet to the right and behind the head 
was a valve, against which he pressed his head 
from time to time in order to expel the expired 
air, which rose to the surface like magnified wob- 
bling globules of quicksilver, assisting those 
above in locating his position. The descent gen- 
erally takes about two minutes, the diver staying 
down occasionally as long as fifty, and sometimes 
reaching a depth of over sixty metres, absolutely 
disregarding the limit of thirty-eight metres set 
by the laws of the Greek Navy Department. 
About two minutes are occupied in pulling him 
up by rope, but usually he buoys himself to the 
surface in less than a minute, ascending more 
rapidly than the rope can be hauled in; and to 

[138] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

this cause in particular can be attributed diver's 
paralysis and other common injuries. 

Suddenly Pteroudiz made his appearance at 
the surface, the water rolling oflF his helmet and 
shoulders as from some great amphibious crea- 
ture; and the bag of dark, heavy sponges, drip- 
ping and streaming with ooze and sea water, 
was hauled aboard. No sooner had he appeared 
on deck and removed his helmet than another 
diver, dressed and waiting, at once made his 
descent, and so it goes on through the hot day. 
It was not without some persuasion that the cap- 
tain acquiesced to my request to go down in one 
of the suits. But at last one day, when five miles 
out to sea, I donned the suit and the heavy brass 
helmet was screwed down and locked to the col- 
lar. At first it was with great difficulty that I 
managed to control my heavily weighted feet 
and walk across the rolling slippery deck, during 
which experiment the barefooted Greeks gave 
me a wide path. The sensation as the helmet 
was locked and the pumps started was one of 
slight compression only, about the head, to which 
one at once becomes accustomed. The overseer, 
despite my signals from the vision of opalescent 
refracted lights into which I had sunk, refused to 

[139] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

pay out sufBcient rope to allow me to make bot- 
tom. He feared the dangers which attend the 
novice on too great a depth at the start, and par- 
ticularly when no preparation pertaining to diet 
has been made. 

Many captains and overseers pay practically 
no attention to depth and time, compelling the 
diver to descend again at once if his sponges are 
too few or of inferior quality. Often no consid- 
eration is given the defenceless diver, as, stagger- 
ing and almost overcome in the depths below, he 
signals to come up, and if he buoys himself to the 
surface, he is forced to go down again. 

Overseers direct the descents, deciding the 
divers' time below, and frequently take com- 
mand when the captains are ashore. 

Sometimes the overseers not only secretly fix 
the pumps so that less pressure is indicated, but 
instead of using pure vaseline they grease the 
machines with old lard and oil, which leak into 
the tube, sending foul air down to the diver. 
The coolers are so neglected that the water be- 
comes unbearably hot to the touch, and the air 
forced down even hotter. The suit is sometimes 
neglected and twice in the year preceding my 
visit the helmet became detached while the diver 

[140] 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

was below. One of the men was saved and the 
other drowned. 

And so, it is not strange that divers often bribe 
their overseers in order to secure leniency, and 
even at the moment of descent make agreements 
by signs to spare their Hves. 

As soon as the sponges are brought aboard 
they are thrown in heaps on deck near the scup- 
pers, where the barefooted sailors tramp and 
work out the ooze; then strung on lines they are 
soused over the side and trail overboard some 
ten hours during the night. To break and sepa- 
rate from them shell-fish and other parasites, 
they are beaten with heavy sticks on deck or on 
the reef rocks off Tripoli; and, after being well 
soaked in the sea again, many are bleached by 
being immersed in a tub of water containing a 
certain solution of oxalic acid, from which they 
emerge a yellowish color, care having been taken 
to avoid burning them. 

Tripoli sponges are inferior to those found in 
other parts of the Mediterranean, the best quality 
[those gathered from rocks] is worth from $4.00 
to $5.00 per oke [2.82 lbs.]; the second quality 
[where seaweed abounds], from $3.20 to $4.00 
per oke ; and the third quality, brought up with- 

[141] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

out intent by the trawlers, from $2.40 to $4.00. 
Male sponges, which do not abound on the 
Tripoli coast, are worthless. 

Notwithstanding the importance of the sponge 
industry the season after I left Tripoli the fol- 
lowing was received from Mr. Riley : 

A short time since the Governor General issued orders that all 
machine boats had three days to get their provisions and clear out 
of Tripoli Harbor and Tripoli Port. This upset things a bit and 
meant ruin to some and thousands of <£'s loss to others, so I saw 
his Excellency, and in two hours had fixed it up, at least until he 
wired to Constantinople. Afterward I saw him again and the 
thing is fixed up for this season at least, and no bothering through 
the Consulates. 

Often great strings of sponges bleaching and 
drying in the sun cover large portions of the 
standing rigging of deposit boats when in port. 
When dry they are worked up in sand, then 
packed in boxes ready for shipment; a third to 
a quarter of the crop is sold direct from Tripoli, 
mainly to England and to France and Italy; the 
bulk of the crop, unbleached and unprepared, 
is taken at the close of the season to the islands 
from which the boats came, where long experi- 
ence, manipulation, and cheap labor prepare 
them for the European market. 

At sundown, after the last descent had been 
made and the sponges put over the side, the ma- 

[ 142 ] 




a 



d .2 

O t 

O . 

a; • 



O 



THE GREEK SPONGE DIVERS 

chine was housed and the crew boarded the 
Panayea. The smoke from her galley stove 
drifted lazily toward the distant low-lying coast 
of Africa, where was just visible the long palm 
fringe of the oasis of Tripoli. Until dark, the 
men lounged around the deck, an occasional 
group at cards, but most of them absorbed in 
smoking or conversation. 

The glittering eyes and bronzed faces of the 
crew reflected the light from a lantern and the 
glow of the galley stove, near which, squatting 
on the deck, spare boxes, or spars, we ate the 
evening meal, the only one of the day allowed to 
divers on account of the character of their work ; 
but the sailors fare better, having at noon a meal 
of cheese, olives, herring, and rice. To-night we 
sat down to sun-dried goat's flesh, hardtack, a 
hot dish of lentils, and a pint of wine each. 

In less than an hour the crew had turned in for 
the night — on deck or below, as the case might 
be. A few paralyzed divers had dragged them- 
selves, or been assisted, to the unspeakably foul- 
smelling, congested quarters below, where be- 
tween the narrow bunks the spaces were filled 
with provisions, clothes, water-casks, fuel, and 
sick men. 

[143] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

At the end of the season, when the wind 
sweeps down from the north, and the jagged reef- 
lined coast of Tripoli is lashed into foam, these 
men of the sea, who have not already weighed 
anchor for unknown ports, set sail for their island 
homes, carrying with them the season's haul, 
though a few remain, going out when the weather 
permits, or fishing in certain protected parts of 
the Archipelago. 

I was alone with the watch on deck. Through 
the criss-cross of the rigging and spars I could 
see his dim moonlit form as he '^gave a spoke" 
at the wheel now and again. Over the side the 
phosphorescence mingled in the quiet water 
with the silver star dust of the blue night. I 
gazed down into the dark, mysterious, and seem- 
ingly bottomless sea, where I, too, had felt the 
first suffocation and tight congestion, that strange 
sense of entire isolation and chance — ^then the 
depth and wonder of it all. 

So it is with some of the men who go down to 
the sea in ships. 



[144 J 



CHAPTER EIGHT 

THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

SUNRISE shot over the limestone range of 
the Tripoli hills. Back of them and to the 
south canoned out by numerous wadis the 
plateau lands of the Sahara stretched away. 
Northward forty to ninety miles to the sea ran a 
tract of country sprinkled with oases. About 
these and along the river courses where Arabs, 
Berbers, and Blacks cultivate the arid wastes, at 
harvest time golden grains wave under the hot 
Desert winds, and here and there green patches 
of olive groves darken the clayey, sandy soil. 
A night mist still hung tenaciously in the valleys 
and over the low foot-hills along which I rode, 
and the heavy dew-bejewelled blades of esparto 
gi-ass ^ drenched hoof and fetlock as my horse 
scattered myriads of water diamonds from its 
wiry clumps. 

* Esparto — a Spanish name given two or three kinds of grass, 
more particularly to the marcrochloa tenacissima indigenous to South- 
ern Europe and North Africa. 

[145] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Suddenly from over the brow of a dune a 
strange, bulky apparition lifted indistinctly from 
the great solitudes. Then another and still oth- 
ers of these gray spectres moved silently toward 
us through the mist film, and a caravan of heavily 
loaded camels squdged silently by, their great 
incongruous shapes almost lost beneath the huge 
bundles of esparto grass which were thrown 
across their humps. 

As the night mists dispelled before the heat 
not a tree or a shrub broke the monotonous yet 
imposing harmony of the landscape. My eye 
wandered over mile upon mile of an immense 
plain covered by half a, ^ nothing but half a, over 
which the soft, hot breeze of the gibli played in 
lazy wantonness, rolling, ever rolling in long bil- 
lows its undulating tops. 

So from Portugal and Spain, along the sandy 
regions of the Atlas, as they range through the 
western half of Northern Africa until they finally 
dwindle away into the Desert sands of Tripoli, 
at intervals great seas of this waving broomlike 
weed grow at the bases of the mountains and on 
the plateau lands. While in Spain and the Bar- 
bary States it is an object of commercial enter- 

* By Arabs esparto grass is called halfa or alfa, 
[146] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

prise, in Tripoli the industry is unique in its im- 
portance and has enough of the unusual and of 
the element of danger to make it picturesque in 
its setting, from when the grass is gathered by 
the Arabs of the wadan to the time when husky 
Blacks hook the great bales aboard vessels 
which bear it away to England for the manufact- 
ure of paper. 

In the distance the rude shacks of some esparto 
pickers appeared, looking more like mounds of 
earth than habitations. About them some hob- 
bled camels browsed on the dryness. I drew 
rein before one of the shacks, while some of the 
family ventured forth. A boy, first with one 
dirty hand, then with the other, compressed a 
moldable mass of something into a hard lump, 
which my head Arab tried to convince me was 
a camel's milk cheese. That it bore the hall- 
mark of the maker there was no doubt. Not 
far off were the bobbing heads of the esparto 
pickers. Standing leg-high amid the waving 
halfa they paused in their work to view me 
curiously. 

On close approach one.jSnds the grass, which 
is perennial and bears a small flower, growing 
quite sparsely and in separate clumps ; the strong 

[147] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

stems, tough and fibrous, radiate from the large 
tap-root of each plant. Here the hired picker 
puts in a long day's work for starvation wages of 
perhaps twenty cents a day. When he has 
picked a quantity of grass he ties it up in bun- 
dles with bits of esparto rope, ready to be packed 
into large nets. 

Despite the fact that the esparto is considered 
nonreproductive and is incapable of cultivation, 
I noticed that the Arabs pulled it up, root and all. 
This is the custom among the esparto pickers in 
Tripoli, and was so in Tunis and Algeria until the 
French put a stop to this disastrous method of 
gathering. Now they require it to be cut, and 
thus the great esparto districts of Oran, Bougie, 
Philippeville, and Oued Laya owe their preser- 
vation to the foresight of the French colonial 
government. 

Under the moonlight of early morning these 
Arabs began the day's work. One or two had 
discarded their woollen baracans as the early 
chill wore off, and had put on the fantastic 
broad-brimmed esparto hats of the Sahel, as a 
protection against the intense heat which had 
already hushed down on the landscape. I knew 
that later the majority of them would again 

[148] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

throw on the woollen garment, which in this sun- 
scorched land is worn to keep out the heat as 
well as the chill. Sandals woven from esparto 
grass or the broad-soled Desert slippers pro- 
tected their feet from being scorched and cracked 
by the sun-baked ground. But the heat and the 
chill are the least dangers which beset the es- 
parto picker. 

With careless ease he gathers the longest of 
the wiry stems from the most matured clumps. 
Suddenly with a catlike spring he jumps aside 
and eludes the thrust of his arch enemy, the 
deadly viper, whose nest he has disturbed in a 
tuft of matted halfa grass. But even the sharp 
eye of the Arab sometimes fails to discern the vi- 
per's lair, and he plunges his bare arm into the 
very nest of this poisonous reptile, only to with- 
draw it stung and bleeding from the fangs which 
have buried themselves in his flesh. 

In the halfa clumps as well as in crevices under 
stones lurks another enemy, the great rock scor- 
pion of Northern Africa — a noxious creature 
sometimes ten inches in length. Its peculiar 
aversion to light and desire for warmth make 
it a much- feared night visitor. 

''Arise, let us make morning," sounds over the 

[149] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

camp, and the esparto picker not infrequently 
shakes out of his baracan a scorpion or two. 
Perhaps he neglects to dislodge one from his 
broad-soled Desert slippers, and, thus cornered, 
the scorpion with the lash of his venomous tail 
attacks the intruder. 

The consequences depend greatly upon the 
size of the scorpion and the constitution of the 
victim. While the sting is not necessarily fatal, 
yet the Arabs' sole idea of treatment, so far as I 
could ascertain, was either to cut off the injured 
part at once or bandage it tightly above the 
wound. Then far back on the throbbing Desert 
the poisoned man is left alone with his wild de- 
lirium and burning thirst. In many cases the 
corpse is soon cast out to the vultures and car- 
rion crows, whose shadows likely enough have 
already for hours been passing to and fro over 
the body. 

In the shadows of the shacks the women and 
children not employed in gathering were braid- 
ing ropes and making them into immense coarse- 
meshed nets. Each net when stuffed with halfa 
contains enough for a single camel load, and this 
unwieldy bulky mass, often four feet wide and 
twelve in length, is balanced across the camel's 

[150] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

hump and secured with lashings which are fas- 
tened fore and aft under the camel's neck and tail. 

Summer is the close season, but halfa may be 
gathered during the entire year. It is extremely 
difficult to dry if picked green, and should not 
be gathered until the rainy season — November 
to March — has passed and the hot Desert breezes 
have thoroughly dried out its moisture. Fre- 
quently, however, it is collected green by the 
Arabs, who then dry it slightly before taking it to 
market, and in seasons of close competition the 
dealers themselves have been known to buy it 
green. 

When the time is ripe for transporting the 
esparto to the seaports of Bengazi, Khoms, Zlei- 
ten and Tripoli, a caravan is organized and takes 
up the march of from two to four days as the 
camel journeys. In irregular single file, such as 
the one which passed me in the early morning, 
it creeps its way over the Desert. Perhaps beside 
the huge camels a donkey with a smaller load of 
halfa or water-filled goat-skins trudges patiently 
along, in the vanguard a big white wolfhound, 
while the Arabs on foot distribute themselves the 
length of the caravan. Their ever-ready long 
flint-lock guns or broadswords are slung loosely 

[151] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

across their backs, and their senses are ever on 
the alert for Desert thieves who may lurk in the 
shadows or lie buried in the sand beside the trail. 

Snap ! ! Over in the shadow of a dune a flint- 
lock has flashed in the pan, but it is warning 
enough. Bang! Bang! red shafts of light like 
lurid meteors light up in fitful glares the esparto 
pickers as amidst the confusion some bunch the 
animals, while others repel the attack. But the 
enemy, as is his custom, has withdrawn as sud- 
denly as he appeared. A wounded esparto 
picker is lifted on to a camel; a bunch of half a 
lying on the Desert a short distance off tells the 
tale of a successful raid, in which the profits of 
the cargo have been wiped away in a moment by 
the stampeding to the enemy of a valuable camel ; 
but Allah wills! and the garfla takes up the 
march, soon to pass along the hard-packed cara- 
van road through the palm groves of the oasis of 
Tripoli to the Suk-el-Halfa [Haifa Market] with- 
out the town. 

A cursory glance at the Suk-el-Halfa will im- 
press even the stranger with the importance of 
the esparto trade, and a few words with any Tri- 
politan merchant will reveal the fact that not only 
is it Tripoli's leading export, but in years of little 

[152] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

rain and scant harvest, with practically the ex- 
tinction of the trans-Saharan caravan trade, it is 
the only natural resource which the Arab peasant 
can fall back upon. In years of full harvest little 
halfa, comparatively speaking, is brought into 
market, for Hadji Mohamed, having reaped his 
wheat and barley, has not only made provision 
for his simple wants for the year, but has even 
brought back from the town bazaars silver orna- 
ments for his women. Consequently necessity 
does not drive him to the tedious process of halfa 
gathering, with all its attendant risks and the 
long journeys to the coast on camel back, so often 
unproductive of satisfactory results. 

Esparto is not an agricultural product, and it 
seems fitting that the leading export of that no- 
madic people should be a product of their own 
arid land, wild and incapable of cultivation. 
Since 1868, when the first shipload of esparto was 
sent to England, vessels have borne away thou- 
sands of tons yearly to that country. You or I pick 
up a heavy-looking novel, perchance, and marvel 
at its lightness, and the reader of some London 
newspaper peruses its columns and then casts 
aside the finished product of the esparto pickers. 

In 1901, which was an average year, 215,155 

[153] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

camel loads came into the coast towns; nearly 
134,000 passed through the gateway to the Suk- 
el-Half a, the total export of the country amount- 
ing to about 33,000 tons. That from the town 
of TripoH, 16,690 tons, brought £75,500, which 
was over a fourth of the amount of Tripoli's 
total exports. 

Not ten minutes' trudge through the sand from 
the heavy battlements which surround Tripoli is 
the big square-walled enclosure of perhaps three 
acres — the Suk-el-Halfa. The scenes of this 
great suk have left an indelible impress on my 
memory. I but close my eyes and see that great 
panorama of the heat, the sweat, and the toil iBoat 
across the horizon of my imagination like some 
vivid mirage of that far-away Desert land. 

One day I loafed across the Suk-el-Thalat and 
followed in the shadow of the wall, lagging after 
some esparto camels to the arched gateway of the 
Suk-el-Halfa. Here the caravan halted and the 
leader was accosted by an Arab guard. A short 
parley, and the guns of the drivers were handed 
over, and the leader tucked the greasy receipt in 
a leathern money pouch beneath his baracan. 
Each camel entirely blocked the gateway as with 
his load of grass he passed through. Following 

[154] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

in their wake through the shady portal I entered 
the sun-flooded suk. My first impression was 
of a great sea of yellow-gray esparto bales, re- 
sembling a vast herd of half-submerged hippo- 
potami ; among them the cotton garments of the 
negroes flecked white, each dotted by the ebony 
head of its wearer, and over the glaring white 
walls which shut in the scene the arches of some 
neighboring buildings seemed to peer like so 
many curious monster eyes. 

Here and there great bales poked their noses 
above the rest, and once in a while one would rise 
or lower as a camel arose or was unloaded. In 
this great weighing yard of the Suk-el-Halfa, 
called by the natives rahbah, a simple though 
effective system was evident. Across its centre 
the suk was divided by a fence in which breaks 
occurred at intervals. At these openings big 
primitive scales had been erected, the number of 
these depending on the number of buyers; this 
year there were four. These lever-scales are put 
up at auction, and public weighers, who are gen- 
erally Arabs, weigh up the nets of esparto and re- 
ceive a certain amount per hundred-weight. On 
one side of the fence is the unweighed, on the 
other the weighed, esparto. 

[155] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Each picker as he enters deposits his esparto 
in one lot, which is auctioned off unweighed to 
the highest bidder. Prices fluctuate, due to the 
competition of the buyers, but the year I was in 
TripoH six francs per hundred kilos was a fair 
price for the raw material. When the bidding 
opens in the early spring, the competition among 
the buyers is very keen, reaching sometimes as 
high as c£3-8s-6d a ton. But it sometimes hap- 
pens that there is not a corresponding increase 
in its value in England, and the buyers at times 
sell at a loss. 

From the topmost bale of a pile of heat-soaked 
halfa near one of the scales I watched the day's 
work. These scales were huge levers. Through 
a loop of coarse rope suspended from the cross 
point of two rough-hewn beams, a third hung 
lazily balanced. At the larger end a chain and 
tackle containing a scale dangled to the ground. 
Near by the flapping broad-brimmed hat and 
officious manner of an Arab at once stamped him 
as one in authority, a public weigher. By word 
and gesture he would order a bale rolled out from 
the heap where the owner had deposited it. 

It was noosed in the tackle; a yell from the 
weigher, and a number of strapping Blacks 

[156] 




Weighing esparto grass in the Suk-el-IIalfa 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

sprang from below me like so many leopard cats 
upon the other more slender end of the beam. 
They held for a minute suspended in the air, 
others hung to their legs, the great beam trem- 
bled, then the monster bale at the other end 
slowly began to lift, and its human counter- 
weight sank gradually to the ground. 

''Four hundred- weight" called out the over- 
seer with a glance at the scale as he released the 
tackle. Crush ! dropped the huge bale as it sent 
up a great puff of sand dust, which drifted away 
in quiet space, powdering the shiny skins of two 
Blacks. With remarkable strength they grap- 
pled the meshes with long iron hooks, whirled 
and rolled it beneath the scales to the other side 
of the fence, where another relay bundled it end 
over end into its place. 

One cannot sojourn long in Tripoli without 
being impressed that it is a land of ancient tra- 
dition, a land where even to-day only the mere 
fringe of modern civilization has touched one or 
two of her ports, a land of customs, implements, 
and usage of a time long before the Israelites 
shook the dust of Egypt from their feet. 

But somehow of all the primitive native de- 
vices none interested me more than the great 

[157] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

rough-hewn levers in the Suk-el-Halfa. Many 
a time I diverged from my objective point to 
watch the great beams lift and dip on their ful- 
cra. The timber had come, perchance, from the 
neighboring oasis, but the idea — ? Could it 
have travelled through the long reaches of cen- 
turies from the times when men first had occasion 
to lift great weights? I venture an opinion. 
Could this be a modification of the device by 
which the ancient Semites and Ethiopians raised, 
tier upon tier, the great blocks of the Pyramids 
of Egypt? Simply constructed, easily shifted, 
admitting revolving the weight when once lifted 
through an arc of almost 170^, it might well have 
been adapted to such a use. 

Now that the esparto is weighed the Arab 
from whom it was bought must have his drivers 
load it again on to their camels and deliver it into 
the private esparto yard of the buyer. As each 
driver enters a private yard, a clerk checks and 
countersigns the ticket given him in the Suk-el- 
Halfa; then, having deposited their nets in one 
heap, with unloaded camels they present their 
tickets to the cashier and are paid. Along the 
outskirts of the halfa piles I watched them load 
up the groaning camels. 

[158] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

Always remonstrating, an occasional beast 
more defiant than the rest refused to lie down to 
be loaded. Near me one vicious brute had twice 
shaken off his heavy burden, and now a third 
time had prematurely lurched to his feet. It 
finally required the combined efforts of five men 
to land the unwieldy net of esparto securely 
across his hump. My sympathies w^ere with the 
camel. 

It was shortly after one siesta time that I ac- 
companied Signor Cortugna to one of the private 
esparto yards, of which he was manager. As we 
turned into the main street of Tripoli, which 
leads through an outer gate, a man, breathless 
and excited, dodged and jostled through the 
leisurely moving crowd, approached Signor Cor- 
tugna, and addressed him in Arabic. Signor 
Cortugna hailed from their stand, near the 
market gate, one of the quaint little rigs, several 
of which Tripoli boasts. ''Step in," he said; 
''the Arab informed me of an accident to one of 
my men." We rattled and bumped over the 
caravan road to the esparto yard. 

We passed through the gate and were joined 
by the foreman, who led the way through lanes 
of loose halfa to a long inclined structure, over 

[159] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

which from sunrise to sunset during baling peri- 
ods an endless traveller with its ceaseless noise 
conveyed the sorted esparto to the upper floor of 
a two-story building. 

Now a deathless silence hung over the scene, 
which but an hour ago was alive with the drone 
of industry. The foreman stopped at a pit at 
the base of the traveller in which a Black con- 
stantly watches and controls the endless chain. 
A few remnants of cloth left in the cogs were 
least among the evidences which told of a lapse 
of vigilance or a moment's dozing on the part of 
the lone watcher in the heat and din of the nar- 
row pit. 

Followed by several Blacks we turned away 
from the sickening sight. A woman's moan 
floated out from a distant part of the yard ; as it 
rose and fell other women added their wails to 
the crescendo in a great pitiful cry to Allah for 
the dead, as the good and the bad angels con- 
tested for the soul. In a low-lying shed, an old 
sack for a shroud, lay what remained of the poor 
fellow. 

We were not Mohammedans, and Signor Cor- 
tugna paused respectfully at the entrance. The 
voices hushed, the women from under their col- 

[160] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

ored striped baracans and some of the half-naked 
men glared savagely. 

It is the law of the country to bury the dead by 
sundown. As the big piles of half a cast lengthen- 
ing shadows across the yard, the orange glow of 
the sunlight played over four dignified figures 
who strode away with the bier of their tribes- 
man, on to his shallow grave by their village in 
the oasis. So majestic was their mien, so classic 
were the graceful folds of their tattered garments, 
that visions of some ancient Greek borne to his 
funeral pyre ranged across my vision, and the 
guttural unintelligible funeral chant sang to my 
ears: 

" Let us begin and carry up this corpse 

Singing together. 
Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorps. 

Each in its tether. 
Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, 

Cared for till cock-crow: 
Look out if yonder be not day again. 

Rimming the rock-row.'* 

It was a weird scene full of barbaric pathos; 
but rattle, rattle, and the endless chain of the 
great traveller again revolved with its cold metal- 
lic clink, and again some hundred Blacks took 
up their work. Not the chocolate-colored hy- 
brid of our land, but great powerful savages these, 

[161] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

with white, glistening teeth and cheeks scarred 
with the marks of their tribe or their servitude; 
men with skins of ebony as polished as patent 
leather, down which rolled great beads of per- 
spiration. Any day they might forsake their 
palm-thatched zerebas in the oasis for the jungles 
of the Sudan from whence they came. 

The simple white cotton clothes predominated, 
but many wore nondescript rags and garments of 
colored stripes which, with the bright notes of the 
red fezzes spotting here and there among the 
esparto hats, served to enhance the color setting 
of the scene. 

From the great heaps of loose esparto where 
the Arab pickers had deposited it, some of the 
Blacks with crude short-handled forks pitched it 
into high windrows. Along these, in irregular 
order, others sorted it into three qualities — hand- 
picked, average, and third, the qualities depend- 
ing on the length and condition of the grass; at 
the same time all roots, stones, and foreign sub- 
stances were discarded. Then the grass which 
had been thoroughly dried was ready for baling. 
My use of sketch-book and camera caused some 
of the sorters to show an ugly disposition, and 
even after I was joined by Signor Cortugna, who 

[162] 










^ 
^ 



IB 

ai 
2 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

motioned them to get about their work, their 
vengeful eyes leered maliciously as they paused 
again at my approach. 

In the yards as in the fields the esparto work- 
ers are in danger of the scorpion and the viper. 
''Their bite seldom proves fatal," explained 
Signor Cortugna, ''for we have medicine and 
treatment ready at hand. But I have never seen 
one of my Blacks kill a scorpion, for these fellows, 
like the Arabs, say, ' There is a compact between 
us, and if we do not kill them they will not kill us.' 
I have seen an Arab take a scorpion as I would 
take a cigarette, but then they know how to hold 
them, and I notice they always pick them up 
after they have struck at something. This is not 
a land of plenty and there are few things that the 
Arab does not put to some use, and so with 
brother scorpion — he sometimes eats him. 

"But we must move along if we would see our 
new Manchester-built hydraulic presses baling 
up the grass," and we went up the traveller on 
a pile of halfa, stepping out on the upper floor 
of the well-built two-storied building. This had 
superseded some sheds in a corner of the yard 
under which were discarded old hand-presses. 
Here the thoroughly sorted and cured halfa had 

[163] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

been deposited and was being pitched into a deep 
twelve-foot pit at one end of the loft, where an 
Arab and two Blacks grunted and bobbed in 
unison as they trod down the grass into a big case. 
When it was full, at a given signal they drew up 
their legs and hung suspended, while the case 
below swung its cargo of esparto under one of 
the heavy presses. 

Down came a pressure of six hundred tons, 
mashing the grass into a hard-packed bale of six 
and a quarter hundred-weight. While the great 
jaws of the machine held it at this tension, strong 
steel bands were quickly strapped about it ; then, 
rolled off and weighed, it lay ready for ship- 
ment. 

Work in the esparto yards begins at six in the 
morning and ends at six at night, with a midday 
rest; but during Ramadan, when all Mohamme- 
dans fast through the day, the Blacks prefer to 
work from six until five without let or sup. And 
now, as the lurid sun disk painted red the inter- 
stices of the tracery of the date-palms which 
feathered over the neighboring walls, the rattle 
of the great baling press ceased, and down the 
long windrows the workers seemed to be con- 
verging in a human vortex toward one point — 

[164] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

the quarters of the cashier. Here the clerks and 
foremen, who received from two shillings and 
sixpence to four shillings a day, had already been 
paid, and some of the pressmen their fifteen and 
eighteen pence. 

I halted on the outskirts of this virile crowd. 
They seemed to surcharge the very atmosphere 
with a sense of healthy animalism and good nat- 
ure, under all of which I well knew lay the fierce 
and cruel nature of the savage. One by one they 
were rapidly paid off, great burly carriers col- 
lected each his ten pence, and at last a lone sorter 
tucked into a bit of lizard skin his meagre eight 
pence, then hurried on out through the gate. 

I watched the gray herd patter through its 
cloud of sand dust until it lost itself toward the 
oasis in the dusk of the coming night. I knew 
that it would wind a short half-mile through the 
shadows of the palm groves, and empty into its 
native village — then each man to his own com- 
pound which enclosed his zerebas. Here little 
balls of ebony with ivory settings would tumble 
laughingly to greet him. The aroma of the coos- 
coos would make his broad, flat nostrils dilate as 
he neared his hut and his wives — black wenches 
these, with the heavy crescents of silver sagging 

[165] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

from their ears, and perchance a piece of red 
coral shoved through a nostril. 

While most of the tribe work in the esparto 
yards, many find employment in and about the 
town. They live after the manner of the life in 
the interior from whence they had drifted across 
the Great Desert. Under a marabout they con- 
form to their tribal laws and customs. 

But a few days previous, accompanied by my 
man Bringali, a hybrid native of Sudanese and 
Arab stock, I had wandered along the paths of 
their village, hard packed by the tread of many 
feet, and had ventured here and there a peep 
into a compound. Discretion prevented me 
from seeking a crawling entrance to their primi- 
tive dwellings. I well knew that jealous eyes 
were peering out from the small, dark openings 
of the hive-shaped, palm-thatched huts, and 
vicious dogs with an undeveloped sense of dis- 
crimination lurked in unexpected places. It is 
not the safest thing for a stranger to enter their 
village alone, as can be attested to by a German, 
who recently nearly paid with his life the penalty 
of idle curiosity. 

I parted from Signor Cortugna near where the 
mosque of Sidi Hamet backs into the bazaars, 

[166] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

and turned down the Arbar-Arsat to my lokanda. 
Tn the quiet of the African night, from under the 
great date-palms far out beyond the town, the 
hoarse bark of a wolfhound drifted in, and once 
a soft Desert wind wafted from the negro village, 
the faint, distant sounds of the barbaric clink of 
steel cymbals, of the thrumming gimbreh, and, 
above all, the hoarse, wild shouts of wilder men, 
and I knew that the hoodoo and dance were on. 
Then I fell asleep, to dream of great fires w^hich 
cast gaunt, fluttering shadows of whirling, fren- 
zied savages into the darkness of the palm groves. 

A dark spot on the horizon, a graduated fume 
of trailing smoke, and the incoming steamer for 
the time being furnished an animated topic of 
conversation among Tripoli's little business and 
social world, isolated as it is far south from the 
highways of the Mediterranean. Not until she 
drops anchor off the esparto jetty and her mis- 
sion is known does Tripoli settle back to its 
lakoom and coffee. 

The entire half a crop is carried in British bot- 
toms to the United Kingdom. So far as I could 
ascertain only one bark had ever cleared for the 
United States, and that for New York, Within 

[167] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

the remembrance of Mr. Vice-Consul Dickson 
of Great Britain only a bark and a sloop from 
America have ever made port here. The sloop 
brought petroleum. 

Before the esparto is shipped from the yards 
all dampness must be thoroughly dried out, and 
often when it is held over through the rainy sea- 
son, is reopened for that purpose. Not only does 
dampness cause the halfa to rot, but increases 
the danger of spontaneous combustion, as was 
the case in the cargo of the Ben Ledi of North 
Shields, which, under full steam from Zleiten, 
suddenly made her appearance off Tripoli and 
signalled for assistance, which was rendered by 
the Turks. 

The heavy bales are transported from the 
yards on two-wheeled carts drawn by horses, and 
then dumped on the stone jetty, which is suffer- 
ing greatly from the action of the sea waves and 
the inaction of the Turkish authorities. Here 
government dues of twenty paras [two cents] a 
bale are levied, as the wharf is government 
property. 

Often I have sat on the hard-packed bales 
which lined the jetty and watched Arab and 
Black stevedores hook the cumbersome weights 

[168] 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

aboard ponderous lighters which had been 
warped alongside. 

Transporting from the shore to steamer under 
sunny skies and on summer seas has a certain 
monotony. But when the wind and the storm 
rip across the Mediterranean from the north, 
and whip the great yeasty combers across the 
reef rocks of Tripoli, it ill becomes the lubber or 
man of little nerve to make venturesome trips in 
the heavily loaded unwieldy lighters. Occa- 
sionally a barge is swamped, which is not par- 
ticularly disastrous to the stevedores, all of whom 
can swim like ducks ; but when a lighter rolling 
and lurching turns turtle it is a more serious 
matter, for then with a sudden lurch the cargo 
shifts, and without warning the great ponderous 
lighter turns bottom up, sending hundreds of tons 
of esparto bales crushing down upon the crew, 
and fortunate is he who may appear bobbing to 
the surface. 

The steel hooks used by the stevedores are 
charged up to each vessel on account of the pro- 
pensity of the natives to steal everything they can 
carry away. On one occasion they knocked off 
or unscrewed all the brasses which locked the 
ports of a converted passenger steamer. These 

[169] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

trinkets proved expensive luxuries, and a few 
days afterward found all concerned imprisoned 
within the grim walls of the Castle of the 
Bashaws. 

A striking instance of a man hanging himself 
by his own rope was that of a stevedore who, 
down in the dark hold of an esparto vessel, came 
across a short length of chain. Stripping him- 
self to the waist, he wound the steely links round 
and round his black body, and, donning his shirt 
again, appeared on deck and started to descend 
over the side of the lighter. Splash! Men ran 
to the side of the rolling half-emptied barge — 
a column of spray and some bubbles, that was 
all. When they found him he lay anchored se- 
curely by his prize down among the sponges 
and sea-coral. 

Forty-five years ago the trade of Tripoli was 
diminishing, chiefly owing to the suppression of 
the slave trade with the interior by which the 
Turkish markets were supplied. This was a lu- 
crative form of investment to the Arab merchants 
and others; but as the great caravans with their 
black, human merchandise grew scarcer and 
scarcer, there sprang up a larger, more important 
traflSc between the Sudan and Tripoli, in which 

[170] 



i 




A Black sheik 



THE ESPARTO PICKERS 

Manchester goods were bartered for gold, ivory, 
and feathers. But the profits of this soon began 
to leak out by the way of the new water routes 
from the Sudan to the east and west coasts. 

Already the esparto trade had come to the 
front and to-day it is Tripoli's leading export. 
But back in the jebel the halfa picker still with 
ruthless short-sightedness tears and rips it root 
and all from the sandy wastes. Each successive 
year now entails longer journeys to the coast, 
with increased labor and cost of transportation. 
Each year brings smaller returns, three pounds 
per ton being the selling price in England as com- 
pared with twelve pounds of former times. 

A decreasing demand for esparto grass has 
followed the introduction of wood pulp into 
England from North America and Norway, 
naturally resulting in a decreased value in the 
English market. And many pickers have pre- 
ferred to leave the gathered grass to the sun and 
the sand-storm to transporting it at little profit 
and, perhaps, loss. Not many years hence will, 
in all likelihood, see the passing of the esparto 
trade of Tripoli, of a labor big and primitive, of 
swarthy Arabs, heavily burdened camels, and 
sweating Black men. A few camel loads of halfa 

[171] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

will now and again be brought into Tripoli, 
Misurata, and other coast towns, to be used in the 
weft of mats, and for shoes, hats, and cordage; 
and, perchance, the traveller may now and then 
meet one or two lone esparto pickers, as with 
empty nets thrown over the camels' humps in 
front of them, they lurch, lurch, homeward to 
the plateau lands of the jebel where the wild grass 
and the sand lily nod to the Desert breezes of 
the South. 



[172] 



CHAPTER NINE 

THE CARAVAN TRADE 

STRAGGLING down here and there into the 
Desert from some of the important towns of 
the North African coast, go the trade routes of 
the caravans. But it is the town of Tripoli, low- 
lying and white, shimmering under the hot Afri- 
can sun in her setting of palm gardens, which is 
the nearest coast port north of the Sudan ; conse- 
quently it has become the natural gateway to the 
Sahara, the northern focus of the three great 
caravan routes which stretch away south. The 
sun-scorched surface of the Sahara with its sand- 
hills and oases, mountain ranges and plateaus, is 
greater in area by some half million miles than 
the United States and Alaska combined, and is 
peopled by some three to four millions of Berbers, 
Arabs, and Blacks, with a few Turkish garrisons 
in the north. By way of Ghadames, Ghat, and 
Murzuk, through the Fezzan to Lake Chad, go 

the caravan trails, and then far away south again, 

[173] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

south to that country called the Sudan, Land of 
the Blacks. Here its teeming millions form the 
great negro states of Bambara, Timbuktu, and 
Hausaland in the west; Bornu and Baghermi 
around Lake Chad; Wadi, Darfur, and Kordu- 
fan in the east, extending from Abyssinia to the 
Gulf of Guinea. 

Of these trails, their trade, and the men who 
escort the heavily loaded caravans little enough 
has been said; still less of the innumerable dan- 
gers which constantly beset them as they creep 
their way across the burning desolate wastes, on 
their long journeys to the great marts of the Su- 
dan, — ^Timbuktu, Kano, Kanem, Kuka, Bornu, 
and Wadi. 

South-west from Tripoli, twenty days as the 
camel travels, on the direct route from Tripoli 
to Timbuktu, lies the little sun-baked town of 
Ghadames, which has figured largely in the his- 
tory of the caravan trade with the interior. 
From Ghadames also runs the route to the Sudan 
by way of Ghat; so, by reason of her location, 
Ghadames erected fonduks and became a stop- 
ping place for caravans, and her merchants, 
pioneers of the caravan trade. 

Many years ago they established themselves in 

[174] 



THE CARAVAN TRADE 

the town of Tripoli, with agents at Ghat and the 
big trading posts in the far Sudan. To these 
caravans conveyed periodically large consign- 
ments of goods which were exchanged for ivory, 
ostrich feathers, and gold-dust, to be sold in Tri- 
poli, and eventually, in the form of finished prod- 
ucts, to enhance the wealth and display of 
Europe. Through their superior intelligence and 
honesty the merchants of Ghadames enjoyed for 
many years the monopoly of the trade which they 
had created. 

But the Tripoli merchants could not Indefi- 
nitelv withhold their hands from a trade within 
their grasp and upon which the commercial pros- 
perity of their own city depended. However, it 
was not until some thirty years ago that they 
seriously entered into competition with the 
Ghadamsene. At times large profits are reaped, 
but frequently enormous losses are entailed — not 
so much through the rise and fall of the Euro- 
pean market as through the dangers en route, in 
which attacks and pillage by Desert robbers, and 
reprisals to make good losses incurred by tribal 
warfare, play no small part. 

The merchants who fit out a garfla must stand 
all losses ; consequently great care is given to the 

[175] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

selection of both the camels which carry the val- 
uable merchandise and the men who accompany 
them. The respect paid to the adventurous car- 
avaneer is no small criterion of the fatigues and 
dangers which attend the traveller. Caravans 
vary in size, from that of some lone nomadic 
trader or esparto picker, who trudges beside his 
few camels on his way to some local market, to 
the great trans-Saharan trade caravans with 
thousands of camels, not to mention donkeys, 
goats, sheep, and dogs. Such a caravan is rarely 
met with; it takes a year or more to outfit; 
thousands of dollars are invested by Arabs and 
Jewish merchants. Its numerical strength is in- 
creased by smaller caravans, whose sheiks, be- 
lieving in the safety of numbers, often delay their 
own departure for months. 

Moving south from Tripoli, it must cover some 
fifteen hundred miles of arid Desert before it 
reaches one of the important marts of the Sudan. 

After numerous stops and leaving many ani- 
mals and some men to the vultures, the caravan, 
if fortunate, reaches its destination. In its heavy 
loads are packed the heterogeneous goods gener- 
ally taken, consisting of cotton and wool, cloth, 
waste silk, yarn, box rings, beads, amber, paper, 

[176] 



THE CARAVAN TRADE 

sugar, drugs, and tea, of which British cotton 
goods form more than fifty per cent, of the value. 
Besides these it carries some native products. 
This cargo is bartered for the products of the 
Sudan: skins, ivory, ostrich feathers, guinea 
corn, and gold-dust. Every autumn caravans 
also arrive from the interior and return with 
dried dates; for, among the tribes of the Fezzan, 
Tripoli dates form the chief article of diet, and in 
the oases of the Desert, dates chopped with straw 
are used as fodder. A year, perhaps, after its 
arrival it begins the return voyage, with a cargo 
likely enough amounting to nearly a million dol- 
lars in value; and it is a gamble whether it ever 
reaches Tripoli. 

The tall, swift, riding camel known as the 
mehari is seldom met with in Northern Tripoli. 
The finest male draught camels, the jamal 
costing from $50 to $60 apiece, with a carrying 
capacity of about three hundred-weight, are 
used for transport. From consumption or the 
effects of the long strain scores often die by the 
way, and many others at the end of the ''voyage.'' 
The wages of the men for conducting a return 
cargo are sometimes as high as five thousand 
dollars. Not only must the garfla sheiks have 

[177] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

great courage and endurance, but must be trust- 
worthy and shrewd traders, diplomats of no 
small calibre. Many of the sultans and chiefs, 
particularly the Tuaregs, through whose terri- 
tories lie the garfla routes, exact not only hom- 
age but tribute from the garfla sheiks. To bring 
this tribute within a reasonable sum and secure 
a safe conduct requires extraordinary skill and 
tact. The opportunities for dishonesty afforded 
the garfla men are many, and occasionally men 
and goods are never heard from again. 

Preliminary to making up an outfit for trav- 
elling in the Tripolitan Sahara, a firman [pass- 
port] from the Porte at Constantinople is con- 
sidered necessary; but this, if eventually ob- 
tained, takes time, even years. 

The influence of friends and the courtesy of 
Redjed Pasha circumvented this difficulty, and 
the privilege to travel sans 'firman was rather re- 
luctantly extended to me by his Excellency, after 
I had told him the exact ground I wished to 
cover. This was not by any means easily secured, 
owing in part to the indiscretion of the last Euro- 
pean traveller, a German who had abused this 
privilege two years before. This man had di- 

[178] 



THE CARAVAN TRADE 

verged from the route over which he had asked 
permission to travel, which breach of faith led 
him into serious difficulty. It reached the ears 
of Redjed Pasha, who declared he would not 
again allow a foreigner to travel beyond the 
oasis of Tripoli. 

The next thing was to secure that great essen- 
tial to the traveller in Oriental countries — a re- 
liable dragoman. A dragoman generally fills the 
position of head servant and guide, superintend- 
ing all meals, and to a great extent, making 
arrangements at fonduks, and is directly respon- 
sible to his employer for the character and good 
behavior of the other men. Many Arabs there 
were in the town who would gladly have risked 
the dangers of the Desert as dragomans, but as my 
object was to obtain information of Desert life, 
a man who could act also as an interpreter was 
indispensable: and Muraiche, an Arab about 
sixty years old, proved to be the only available 
man. It is true that he had an unsavory record; 
and I was so warned by members of the little 
English colony there. But his broken English 
and lingua Franca were valuable assets; besides, 
forewarned is forearmed, so it came about that 
Muraiche became my dragoman. 

[179] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

He soon picked two other men. One, by the 
name of Ali, was an Arab of the lower class. He 
was a supple, wiry fellow and, on the whole, 
willing and good-tempered. The other, Mo- 
hammed bv name, was of mixed Arab and Ber- 
ber stock, heavy and muscular — and predis- 
posed to rest. 

One morning found us at Mohtar Haarnsh's, 
the horse trader, whose stable faces the Suk-el- 
Thalet. Mohtar was the embodiment of all that 
a horse trader should be, with a little more thrown 
in, for, like his twin brother, he had six fingers on 
his left hand. 

A number of horses were brought out and run 
up and down the sand stretch of the Suk. Moh- 
tar's boy, at my request, mounted one and was 
forthwith deposited in the sand. I finally se- 
lected two horses and a large, fast-walking pack 
donkey ; then, proceeding to Riley's house, a con- 
tract was drawn up and the men and animals 
hired. Before I left Tripoli — taking Muraiche 
with me — ^I deposited all my money in my friend's 
safe. I advanced Muraiche half his wages, tell- 
ing him to carry enough with him to meet our 
expenses and for me to borrow in case of need. 

A caravan was to start on the morrow at the 

[180] 



THE CARAVAN TRADE 

first hour [sunset], and at an appointed time I 
rode down the Suk-el-Turc, through the Castle 
Gate, and headed for the Fonduk-el-Burka, 
where the camels were being loaded. 

Groaning, grunting, wheezing, and bubbling, 
the last camel of the caravan was loaded. His 
driver, a Black from Hausaland, took an extra hitch 
in a rope; in silhouette against the lurid after- 
glow the camel moved through the Tripoli fon- 
duk gate, resembling a hair mattress on stilts. 

With my own Arabs I brought up the rear. 
Another long shadow merged itself into those of 
my horses and men, and a keen-eyed, well- 
armed Arab, Rais Mohamed Ga-wah-je, leader 
of the caravan, b'slaamed to my Arabs and rode 
on. No fiery barb carried this man of the Desert, 
but a little pattering donkey. Soon he was lost 
among the camels and dust. 

Passing through the suburb of Sciara-el-Sciut 
we were well into the oasis of Tripoli, a five-mile 
tongue of date-palms along the coast at the edge 
of the Desert. Under their protecting shade lie 
gardens and wells by which they are irrigated. 
In this oasis lies the town of Tripoli. It is be- 
yond this oasis that the Turks object to any 
stranger passing lest he may be robbed or killed 

[181] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

by scattered tribes which the Turkish garrisons 
cannot well control — or become too interested in 
the country. Safety over part of my route was 
doubly secure, for Hadji Mufta, a Tripoline 
acquaintance, had spoken to his friend, Rais 
Ga-wah-je, and I was assured of all the hospi- 
tality and protection which these nomads could 
offer — that is, after we had broken bread to- 
gether. Mohamed Ga-wah-je was among the 
most trusted of these leaders, having at times 
conveyed large sums of money along the dan- 
gerous coast routes to Bengazi, and it was a com- 
mon thing for him to carry £1,000 or more in 
gold for Mr. Arbib, Nahoum, and other leading 
Tripoli esparto merchants for their branch 
houses in Khoms and Zleiten. 

So one August night I found myself a part of 
a Saharan caravan, one of the vertebrae of a mon- 
ster sand snake which wormed its way through 
the oasis of Tripoli toward the Great Desert. 
The distorted shape of the moon bulged over the 
horizon through a silent forest of palm groves; 
the transitional moment between twilight and 
moonlight passed, the heavy dew had already 
begun to cool the night, and the garfla had struck 
its gait. 

[182] 



THE CARAVAN TRADE 

Across the moonlit roadway stretched the long 
shadows of the date-palms lifting and wriggling 
themselves over the great dun-colored camels 
and their heavy loads, over little trudging don- 
keys, goats, and sheep, over the swarthy figures of 
men, some heavy covered in their gray or white 
baracans, some half naked, a law unto them- 
selves, its power vested in their crooked knives, 
knobbed clubs, and long flint-locks whose sil- 
vered trimmings caught the moon glint, as in the 
distance they scintillated away like scattered 
fireflies. 

Silently the great snake moved on, save as 
some hungry camel snatched at the cactus hedge 
and gurgled a defiant protest as its driver bela- 
bored it about the head; or as the oboes and 
tom-toms in barbaric strains broke the stillness 
of the night. Then, to ease the march or soothe 
the restless animals, the garfla men from time to 
time would take up the wild peculiar chant, with 
its emphasized second beat, and the songs of 
brave deeds in love or war would echo through 
the palm groves far off on the Desert sands. 
We passed Malaha, a chott [dried lake] where 
salt is obtained. About midnight the garfla 

halted. 

[183] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

"'Fonduk-el-Tajura," remarked one of our 
men. Here we made our first halt. 

Serving as places of rest and protection, and in 
some cases supply depots, the importance of the 
fonduk to caravans and the trade is inestimable. 
These are usually rectangular enclosures with 
arcades along the sides and open in the centre, 
surrounded by the palm and olive gardens of the 
keeper, who may supply fresh fruits, vegetables, 
and other domestic products. There is one en- 
trance protected by heavy doors, which are 
barred at night. Usually, either town or coun-, 
try caravansaries occur so frequently on the 
trails that long, forced marches are seldom nec- 
essary. About four cents per head is charged for 
camels and a nominal price for goats and sheep : 
at fonduks green fodder and other supplies may 
generally be obtained. 

Fonduk-el-Tajura was typical of those found 
throughout North Africa. The impatient beasts, 
hungry and eager to seek relief from their heavy 
loads, tried to jam through the single portal wide 
enough for but one camel and its burden. All 
was dust and confusion. Midst yells, curses, 
and *'hike, hikes," their drivers sought to extri- 
cate the animals or save the goods from being 

[184] 




13 -- 

O «^ 



THE CARAVAN TRADE 

ripped from the loads. The inside of the fonduk 
was a square open enclosure bordered by a cov- 
ered arcade as a protection for the men in the 
rainy season. When all were in, the heavy doors 
were closed and barred against marauders. All 
about me the great beasts were dropping to the 
earth, remonstrating and groaning as vigorously 
as when they were loaded. The packs taken off, 
their saddles were carefully removed and scoured 
with sand, for the hump must be kept clean, 
healthy, and free from saddle sores. 

The camels were soon given their green fod- 
der, which at fonduks generally consists of fooa 
[madder-top roots] or barley, the ksub [guinea 
corn], or bishna [millet], while that cheapest and 
almost indispensable food, the date, finds its way 
to the mouths of men and beasts. The mainstay 
of the caravan men is dried dates and bread 
made with guinea corn. 

On long voyages the day's fare is often con- 
sumed on the march, and halts at such times are 
made only to rest and feed the camels. At fon- 
duks or oases longer stops are made; there 
groups of men may be seen squatting about a big 
wooden bowl of bazine or coos-coos, their na- 
tional dishes, made chiefly of cereals. 

[185] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

The quick-moving form of Ga-wah-je ap- 
peared here and there with the manner of a man 
used to command, and after he had brought out 
of the confusion an informal order, I had an op- 
portunity to meet my host. Under the portal of 
the fondiik a charcoal fire glowed red in an 
earthen Arab stove. About it in the candle-light 
we seated ourselves — Rais Ga-wah-je, the fondiik 
keeper, my dragoman Muraiche, and myself. 
To Ga-wah-je my dragoman presented my 
gifts, seven okes of sugar cones and fifteen 
pounds of green tea. Some of the tea was imme- 
diately brewed and mixed half with sugar and 
a touch of mint. We drank the syrupy liquid and 
broke bread together — then Ga-wah-je bade me 
welcome. 

From my bed on a single stone seat at the side 
of the entrance I looked through an open door 
across the passageway to the only room of the 
place, used as a prayer chamber, in which was 
the kibleh. In the dim light of an oil lamp the 
indistinct forms of several devout Moslems 
knelt or prostrated themselves before Allah, 
low-droning their prayers. Out in the fonduk en- 
closure all was quiet save for the peaceful chew- 
ing of cuds, or an occasional sound as a camel 

[186] 



THE CARAVAN TRADE 

swallowed or a cricket chirped. The moon- 
beams shooting their silvery shafts lit up por- 
tions of the farther wall. The soft breath of the 
silent night blew gently from the south through 
the feathered tops of the date-palms, and pulling 
my blanket over me I fell asleep. 

A low cry from outside the fondSk awakened 
us, and pandemonium broke loose among the 
dogs. Cautiously drawing aside a small panel 
covering a peep-hole, the keeper, after a brief 
conversation, satisfied himself that all was well, 
and as the heavy doors swung open, another car- 
avan entered. The first beasts came through 
like a maelstrom. Half awake in the semidark- 
ness I dodged the swing of a long neck as one of 
the vicious brutes attempted to bite me in pass- 
ing, w^hile several Arabs dragged aside a badly 
crushed comrade. 

Invariably the Desert thief lurks about the fon- 
diiks in the small hours of the morning, watch- 
ing an opportunity to prey on any belated trav- 
eller as he approaches, or to rob the fondiik. 
With the help of a companion he scales the wall 
outside, and by a rope drops noiselessly down in 
some dark corner of the square enclosure, or, 
near a corner, he scrapes a hole in the wall large 

[187] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

enough for him to pass through. This is not 
difficult. A quart or two of vinegar occasionally 
applied not only assists in disintegrating the wall 
of sun-dried bricks, but renders his work noise- 
less as he digs with his knife. Inside, he sneaks 
among the garfla, keeping always in the shadow, 
stealing here a baracan, there a gun or whatever 
it may be, and frequently, unobserved, retreats 
as he entered. 

After a scant three hours' sleep a lantern 
flashed in my face, Ga-wah-je passed, and the 
fonduk was soon astir. The camels once more 
took up their heavy burdens and passed out. 
The last to leave was Ga-wah-je. At the en- 
trance he and the keeper kept tally of his ani- 
mals, after which he paid the fonduk fee of ten 
paras [one cent] per head for camels and don- 
keys, and a nominal sum for goats and sheep. 
The charge for my horses was twenty paras 
apiece. 

The gardens were soon left behind, and the 
lanelike roads lost themselves in the sand which 
carpeted the palm groves through which we now 
travelled. The night dew which nourishes the 
scattered Desert plant life lay heavy jewelled on 
bent blades of rank grass and sand lilies. The 

[188] 



THE CARAVAN TRADE 

date-palms through violet ground mists showed 
indistinct and softened against the brilliant rose 
dawn of day. They ended, and suddenly in the 
orange-gold of the morning sunlight the sand 
billows of the mighty Sahara rolled away south 
over the horizon. 

For days we travelled over these hills of sand, 
sometimes over endless level reaches, through 
districts of clayey, sandy soil, over which Desert 
grasses undulated softly in the hot wind; there 
the trail was hard packed and easily discern- 
ible. Once I looked across a valley to where the 
trails seemed to tumble over a distant hillside, 
like a series of cascades losing themselves in the 
ocean of sand below- Where it descended into 
the dried river beds, the tread of generations of 
camels had worn ravines ten or twelve feet deep. 
These interlaced like the paths of a maze, and 
passing through them with a caravan was like 
a constant game of hide-and-seek, for every man, 
camel, and donkey took his own course. During 
the greater part of the year these river beds are 
veritable ovens of heat, but in winter they be- 
come raging torrents in which men and animals 
frequently lose their lives. In the sandy areas 
the trails are often mere directions, and the only 

[189] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

guides are the sun and the stars, for the passing 
sand-storm not only quickly obliterates all tracks, 
but sometimes a single one changes the topog- 
raphy of the landscape. 

During the season of the warm rains, which 
sink into the porous surface until they are 
arrested at no great depth, vast subterranean 
sheets of water are formed, which could almost 
anywhere be brought to the surface by sinking 
artesian wells. Many streams flow inland, where 
they are lost in the sand of the salt lakes. At this 
time whole sections of the parched Desert seem 
almost over night to have been changed to an- 
other land. Mountains and valleys blossom, 
and the banks of the wadis seem afire with the 
flaming oleander. By these streams or springs 
are the oases where date-palms and gardens are 
planted, and Arab houses, fondiiks, or towns are 
built which determine the course of the caravan 
routes. At intervals are wells for the use of car- 
avans, and a great danger lies in missing these 
wells. One very hot summer some men nearly 
reached the gardens of Tripoli, but could go no 
farther. When found they could only say, ""Ma! 
ma!" [water! water!]. It was given them; they 

drank and died straightway. 

[190] 



THE CARAVAN TRADE 

I watched our garfla wind around or zigzag 
over the sand-hills, breaking and linking itself 
together again as it crawled its slow pace of 
three miles an hour. It marched in irregular 
order characteristic of the Arabs, stringing out 
for miles, but closing in together for protection 
against attack as night approached. The Arab 
usually refrains from riding the baggage camel, 
for every pound of weight and its adjustment on 
these great beasts must be considered; and even 
an Arab has to ride a jemal but an hour or two 
to appreciate the luxury of walking. 

Through the most dangerous districts the men 
were distributed the length of the caravan with 
a strong rear-guard — for it is from this point that 
an attack by an enemy is most feared. As the 
sun gets high, most of the men muffle themselves 
in their heavy woollen baracans to keep out the 
heat, and transfer their long flint-locks from 
across their shoulders to the packs of the ani- 
mals. Between eleven and three o'clock occurs 
the midday rest. Tents are rarely, if ever, car- 
ried by the garflas: in fact, I have never seen 
men of a trade caravan carry tents. Instead 
they use that ever-available garment — the bara- 
can. This answers all their immediate needs in 

[191] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

the way of clothing and trunk. In its loose folds 
the native carries anything from his shoes to his 
coarse staple food, barley bread. At one cara- 
vansary I found Mohammed rinsing my dishes 
in some stagnant water and carefully wiping them 
on his baracan, which bore all the hall-marks of 
a family heirloom. In winter the baracan is a 
protection against the chilling winds, in summer 
against the intense heat. When the midday halt 
is made, the men cast off the loads from either 
side of the recumbent camels and with their 
baracans construct improvised tents propped up 
with stick, club, or gun. Under these in the suf- 
focating heat their owners snatch what is some- 
times the only rest of the day, for they often 
travel twenty hours out of the twenty-four. 

Passing caravans were scarce. A dust cloud 
would appear in the distance, grow large, and 
a caravan of Bedawi, those nomads of the Des- 
ert, in all their barbaric paraphernalia would 
pass by, erstwhile eying us suspiciously with 
unslung guns, holding in leash or calling to their 
savage wolf hounds in order to avoid a mix-up 
with our garfla dogs. For many of their tribal 
wars and feuds have started under less provo- 
cation than a dog fight. 

[192] 



( 



CHAPTER TEN 

DESERT INCIDENTS 

PROBABLY none among the country people 
and the Desert tribes arouse the interest of 
the Occidental mind more than the Bedawi. 
From time immemorial they have lived in tents 
in the Desert, subsisting principally by the rob- 
bery of caravans on the road to Mecca; but to- 
day Tripoli Bedawi, although given somewhat 
to agriculture, are really tribes of petty, wander- 
ing merchants, trading articles of their own manu- 
facture which they carry from place to place. 
These consist principally of dark cloth for bara- 
cans and thick webs of goat's hair for tent covers, 
also loose woven baskets and plates of raffia 
weave. 

Like the Jews they still retain many customs 
described in sacred history, and are in almost 
every way the same kind of people we find men- 
tioned in the earliest times of the Old Testa- 
ment. Owing to their constant exposure to the 
sun they are much darker than the Moors. 

[193] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

In the spring of the year the Bedawi ap- 
proach TripoK, pitch their tents on the plain or 
sometimes in the oasis itself. There they sow 
their corn, wait until they can reap it, and then 
disappear until the year following. During their 
stay in the oases and vicinity the women weave 
and sell their work. When the fine weather and 
corn fail them in one place they immediately 
travel on to a more fertile spot with their families, 
horses, and cattle. A family of distinction among 
them will pitch four or five tents, which present 
a most striking picture with their varied shapes 
sometimes against a background of date-palms. 
The women wear the same kind of a coarse brown 
baracan as the men. They put it on by joining 
the two upper corners with a wooden or iron bod- 
kin, afterward folding the rest gracefully about 
their figures. They plait their hair, cutting it 
straight above the eyebrow, and many of the 
black-eyed, white-teethed girls are pretty in their 
wild, picturesque way. The women do practi- 
cally all the labor of the camp: fetching wood 
and drawing water; pitching and striking tents; 
milking the she goats and camels, and preparing 
food. They are divided into a prodigious num- 
ber of tribes, distinguished by the names of their 

[ 1^4 ] 



DESERT INCIDENTS 

sheiks. Each tribe forms a village and each 
family has a tent or portable hut. In Tripoli 
each sheik is answerable to the Turkish Pasha 
for the actions of each individual of his tribe. 
One evening I saw some dozen male members 
of a tribe driven in to the Castle Prisons by a 
Turkish guard. The arms of all of them were 
securely bound behind with a single piece of rope, 
and their arrest was due to the Turkish suspicion 
which had centred about one of them. 

The Bedawi, unlike the Moors, frequently 
visit one another's domiciles, taking their chil- 
dren with them, but the life of these wandering 
Desert waifs, at the best, is a hard one. The 
women soon become wrinkled and leather- 
skinned, and the men are old almost before they 
have had a chance to be young. 

Sometimes I would ride forward with my 
dragoman, anticipating a longer rest by making 
a fonduk several hours ahead of the slowly mov- 
ing garfla. On one of these occasions, as we 
ascended a sand-hill, the advance guard of a 
homeward-bound caravan suddenly loomed up 
before us. Eleven months before, they had 
started from the great trade mart of Kano, the 
first caravan to arrive from there for two years, 

[195] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

owing to the general insecurity of the roads. 
Three months they had held over at Zinder and 
a month at both Air and Ghat. It took us all 
the afternoon to ride by the twelve hundred and 
twenty camels. They carried a thousand loads 
of Sudan skins from the famous dye pits of 
Kano, destined to find their way to New York 
for the manufacture of gloves and shoes; two 
hundred loads of ostrich feathers, and ten loads 
of ivory, besides odd lots of rhinoceros horn, 
gum-arabic, and wax, valued altogether at 
over two hundred thousand dollars. Ostrich 
eggs, worked leather and basket, work dangled 
from the loads. Here and there a leopard or 
cheetah skin, shot on the way, was thrown across 
a pack or hung from the shoulders of some big 
negro. Black women there were, too, slaves, 
perhaps, or concubines for some of the rich 
Moors or Turks. As the garfla neared Tripoli, 
runners would be sent ahead, and there would 
be great rejoicing among the men who had 
waited several years for the return of their goods. 
I well remember one day in mid August: the 
mercury stood at 155^ in the sun. I do not 
know what it registered in the shade, for there 
was none, save our own shadows. As the sun 

[196] 



DESERT INCIDENTS 

wore round behind us, I shifted the broad band 
of my woollen cholera belt to my back and cast 
my own shadow to protect as far as possible the 
neck and head of my horse, for the poor beast 
was suffering terribly from the heat. 

All day we rode in this furnace and the brave 
fellows trudged barefooted in the scorching sand. 
At intervals I heard a rumble like distant thun- 
der, which proved to be only the soughing of the 
gibli through the vent in the top of my sun hel- 
met. Strange as is the fascination of the Desert, 
yet one feels its monotony keenly; he notices 
with avaricious interest anything which will re- 
lieve him from the intense heat overhead and the 
everlasting wriggling heat waves of the sun 
glare underneath. So for hours at a time I 
watched the formation of camel footprints in the 
sand; watched them scuff through and destroy 
the beautiful point-lace patterns of the lizard 
tracks left by their frightened designers. As the 
afternoon wore on I would doze in my saddle, to 
wake up with a jump as I jammed against a 
camel, or the muzzled mouth of a ''biter" swung 
sharply against my head. 

Tall, sun-tanned Arabs and big negroes black 

as ebony formed the escort of the garfla. Many 

[197] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

of the latter first saw Tripoli when they were 
driven up from the Sudan under the crack of 
the slave whip. Rarely complaining in the in- 
tense heat, they moved forward, long guns slung 
across their backs and often native fans in their 
hands. Usually the men go barefooted: some- 
times over stretches of soft sand they wear broad- 
soled Desert slippers, and on rocky ground 
sandals are worn. Most of the Blacks have their 
tribal marks, a certain number of deep slashes 
across the cheeks and temples, made by their 
parents with sharp stones when they were chil- 
dren. As one Black trudged along beside me, his 
splendid calf muscles played underneath three 
stripes cut in the black skin. 

Early one morning I had ridden some miles in 
advance of the garfla. Save for the soft scuff of 
my horse's hoofs and the stretching of my leather 
trappings, a great silence hung over the untram- 
melled sand hillocks, and their blue-pervaded 
mysterious shadows lengthened. A rounded top 
here and there broke the silver moon as it mel- 
lowed toward the horizon. Suddenly my horse 
shied, nearly unseating me. Instinctively I 
searched the sky-line of hilltops. Had it not 
been for the black spot of a head I might not 

[198] 




.o 

a, 

a 

o 

a; 

cw 

o 

I 



O 



DESERT INCIDENTS 

have noticed the gray baracaned figure of a 
Desert thief who, in his sleep, rolled out of his 
sandy lair. Startled, he sat bolt upright, and 
for a second stared blankly at me. He reached 
for his long gun which lay by his side, but I cov- 
ered him with my revolver and there he sat until 
out of range and sight. The fellow had been left 
by his comrades, who were probably in the vicin- 
ity. This trick of burrowing under the sand 
beside the course of an on-coming garfla is often 
resorted to. As the garfla passes, the thieves 
rise out of the earth, make a quick onslaught, 
then rapidly retire, taking with them what booty 
they can lay their hands on and frequently 
stampeding some of the camels. 

Occasionally these vultures also resort to the 
tactics of a sneak thief, and choose a time at night 
when a fast-moving caravan overtakes a slower 
one. During the confusion caused by the mixing 
up of men and animals in passing, the thief falls 
in from the rear and naturally is taken by either 
party to be a member of the other garfla. Then, 
pilfering anything he can seize from the loads, 
he falls back to the rear and drops out of sight 
behind a sand-hill. 

Lightly blowing in the face of the south-bound 

[199] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

garflas, there springs from the south-east a gentle 
wind, the gibH, which playfully spins little eddy- 
ing whiffs of sand into miniature whirlwinds. 
In this manner it may blow for days, evaporating 
the water in the goat-skin bags and sometimes 
terminating in a sand-storm. Then, when the 
camels, craning their long necks, sniff high in the 
air and utter a peculiar cry, the garfla men know 
well the ominous signs; far off on the horizon^ 
creeping higher and higher, the sky of blue re- 
treats before a sky of brass. 

To the hoarse cries and curses of the men as 
they try to hobble the fore legs of the excited 
camels are added the uncanny guttural groan- 
ings of the jamal, the braying of the asses, and 
the pitiful bleating of the goats and sheep. High 
in the air great flames of sand reach out, then 
the lurid sand cloud, completely covering the 
sky, comes down upon the garfla. In the con- 
fusion some of the water bags are broken and the 
precious liquid disappears in the sand. Turning 
tail and driving down before the blast go some 
of the unhobbled camels, maybe carrying a driver 
with them, never to be heard from again. 

In the deep yellow gloom the garfla, back 
to the storm, lies huddled together; the men, 

[200] 



DESERT INCIDENTS 

wrapped up completely in their baracans, hug 
close to the goat-skins of water. The whole air 
is surcharged with suffocating heat and fine 
powdered sand dust, which finds its way even 
as far as Malta and Sicily. It penetrates every- 
where, inflames the eyes and cracks the skin of 
the already parched tongues and throats of the 
garfla men. The torment at times is indescrib- 
able, and some poor fellow, like the camels, will 
run maddened into the hurricane. 

The sand-storm lasts from a few hours to six 
or seven days, and during it the men lie thus, 
occasionally digging themselves to the surface 
as they become partially covered with sand. 
Frequently all the remaining water dries up. 
At such times camels are often sacrificed for the 
sake of the greenish water which may be ob- 
tained from the honeycomb cells of the reticu- 
lum, a mature camel yielding about five or six 
quarts: and, strange as it may seem, this water 
is cooler than that carried in the goat-skins. The 
storm over, the surviving garfla of emaciated 
men and animals staggers on to the nearest oasis 
or town, over plains which before were sand- 
hills, and sand-hills which are now plains. 

The first stop of any length made by the 

[201] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

south-bound garflas is at Murzuk with its eleven 
thousand inhabitants, that desolate capital of 
the Fezzan — Murzuk, the horror of Turkish 
exiles, where a man is fortunate if the deadly 
climate takes away only his senses of smell and 
taste. Here a thorough rest is given to camels 
and men. Fresh supplies are obtained, the gaps 
in the ranks filled out, and again the wearisome 
march is resumed. Some fifteen hundred miles 
south of the coast they pass over the undefined 
boundary line of Tripoli through the dangerous 
country of the Tuaregs and the Damerghus. 

From time immemorial slaves suffering in- 
conceivable torments have been brought across 
the Sahara from the Sudan, for those regions ex- 
tending from Abyssinia to the Gulf of Guinea 
have furnished an almost inexhaustible supply. 
Particularly from the Central Sudan has the 
Arab slave-trader gathered in his human harvest 
to the chief depots of Timbuktu in the west and 
Kuka in the east. 

You will find an occasional Arab who will tell 
you of a route known only to the Senusi, that 
large fraternity of Moslems located in Tripoli- 
tania, who make proselyting wars and expedi- 
tions from Wadai to their capital. Along this 

[ 202 ] 



DESERT INCIDENTS 

route it is said that never less than fifteen cara- 
vans cross the Desert every year, which bring 
about ten thousand slaves alive to tell the tale; 
and they estimate that forty thousand victims fall 
on the march. Once on the secret route you 
cannot lose your way, for it is lined with human 
bones. Many of these slaves were formerly em- 
barked for Turkey, and there seems to be little 
doubt that slaves are still secretly conveyed to 
Canea and Salonica, Constantinople and Smyrna. 
The only habitation of many small oases is a 
fonduk. Arriving late one night at one of these 
we found the place already so crowded that when 
our garfla was in, men and animals were liter- 
ally jammed together. The filth and vermin of 
the place, not to mention the sickening odors, 
disturbed not the sons of Allah; but for a num- 
ber of reasons I had objections to spending the 
night in such close quarters, preferring to risk 
the external annoyance of thieves. Muraiche, 
with much suavity, held a lengthy conversation 
with the keeper, who shifted the little blossom 
which he wore tucked at the top of his ear to the 
other side of his head and moved thoughtfully 
away. Muraiche informed me that he had con- 
fided to him that I was the Consul of Cordova, 

[203] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

and that he had asked permission for us to sleep 
under the ohve-trees within the mud walls of his 
garden — which was no small favor to be granted 
to strangers. The keeper was suflBciently im- 
pressed with the old rascaFs yarn, spread mats 
for us under the trees, and later brought us some 
fruit and eggs, then returned to the fonduk and 
the great doors were bolted. 

Well knowing that not one of my men would 
stay awake during his watch, I slept lightly. 
Toward midnight the creak of my pannier 
aroused me. Turning my head cautiously I dis- 
tinguished a large wolf-dog in the dim moon- 
light; under the shadow of a near-by pomegran- 
ate-tree, I made out the form of a Desert thief 
quietly directing the dog in his plundering. 
Jumping to my feet and giving Mohammed 
[whose watch it was] a hearty kick to arouse him, 
I ran after the retreating marauders, who disap- 
peared among the rushes of a neighboring marsh. 
Knowing better than to enter their lair, I re- 
turned to camp, to find Mohammed bemoaning 
the loss of a pair of broad-soled Desert slippers. 
To make up much-needed rest I delayed my 
start next morning to some five hours behind the 
garfla. 

[204] 




Muraiche and men descending a desert defile 



DESERT INCIDENTS 

As the sun rose high, I found Hadji Ali, an 
old caravaneer, seated outside the fondiik adjust- 
ing a new flint in his pistol. This done, he gazed 
long at the weapon, and his wrinkled, scarred 
old face softened as when a man looks upon a 
thing he loves. Many journeys across the Sa- 
hara with the garfla had sapped his wiry arms 
of their youthful strength, and the ugly scar over 
his left eye was a trophy of his last voyage three 
years before, which had nearly landed him in the 
fields of the blessed. This was the story: 

''You must know, Arfi, that we were a garfla 
thirteen thousand camels strong, proceeding 
north to Tripoli from Kano, which was many 
months behind us. The escort and transport 
were principally men of Air and their animals. 
Three years before, Sadek, one of their chiefs, 
was slain by Moussa, a brother of the Sultan of 
Damerghu. Two years after, the slayer in turn 
was killed by the men of Air. 

'"As we entered the country of the Damer- 
ghus our guards were doubly watchful and our 
camels tied one to the other. All through the 
wild country, when in camp, we formed a square 
with the animals, the men and guards being in- 
side. We were strong and did not intend to pay 

[205] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

either tribute or homage for passing through the 
territory. It was at the end of the dry months, 
and some of the wells contained no water. We 
were all weak and suffering and a number of our 
men had the sleeping-sickness. We made haste 
to reach the wells of Farok, not two days' jour- 
ney from Damerghu itself. We had almost 
reached them when narrow ravines obliged us to 
fall one behind the other. Suddenly from am- 
bush the men of Damerghu furiously attacked 
us in great numbers. The character of the 
country prevented us from bringing our men to- 
gether. We fought hard and well, but — Allah 
willed. Two hundred and ten were killed on 
both sides, among whom were twelve Tripoli- 
tans, some of them being among the most fa- 
mous garfla leaders in Tripoli. Twelve thousand 
camel loads of guinea corn destined for Air, one 
thousand camel loads of ostrich feathers, ivory, 
Sudan skins, and mixed goods, with the entire 
transport, fell into the hands of the Damerghus. 
^'Near the end of the fight, Arfi, a big man 
broke through my guard with his two-edged 
sword. It was night when I came to myself and 
I had been stripped of everything. With great 
effort I reached the wells of Farok. Near where 

[206] 



J 



DESERT INCIDENTS 

I fell I found half buried in the sand my pistol 
with its charge unfired — but that is another story." 

The total value of these goods lost, including 
the animals of burden^ amounted to more than 
$800,000; and the wells of Farok, where the cap- 
ture occurred, lie in an air-line about nineteen 
hundred and five kilometres south-west of Tripoli. 

The opening of new routes southward and de- 
flection of trade in that direction still lessen the 
prospect of inducing it to return to the shores of 
Tripoli, and except as regards Wadai and part 
of the Sudan the bulk of the trade may be said 
to be lost to Tripoli. Tribal feuds on caravan 
routes unexpectedly change the aspects and dis- 
concert traders. 

Long before the royal caravan of the Queen 
of Sheba, with its heavy embroidered trappings, 
brought gifts to Solomon; long before that 
Semitic nomad, Abraham, came out of Ur, 
caravans had crept their patient, steady way 
across the hot sands and deserts of the East. 
But the days of the Tripoli caravan trade are 
numbered, and the single wire of telegraph line 
which has already found its way to Murzuk is 
but a forerunner to herald the coming of the 
iron horse into the land of the garfla. 

[ 207 ] 



CHAPTER ELEVEN 

CAMEL TRAILS 

OFTEN in the narrow streets and open suks 
of many North African towns I had met 
the great lumbering jemal, but it was not until 
I had eaten in his shadow, slept by him in fon- 
duks, and travelled with him day by day along 
the caravan trails of the northern Sahara, that 
I began to understand and fully appreciate this 
incongruous model of ugly usefulness. 

Through a sweep of saffron sky the glowing 
sun spilled an aureola of golden light over the 
heat-swept sand of the northern Sahara. Before 
me, as I rode, the sand ripples were broken only 
by big heart-shaped footprints of a solitary camel 
— then beyond the rounding sand hillocks the 
great beast silhouetted his gaunt shape against 
the afterglow, dignified, patient, defiant, imper- 
turbable, a creature of the vast wastes; revered, 
valued, and ill-treated by the Oriental; misun- 
derstood and surrounded with mystery by the 

[208] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

Occidental ; to me an epitome of the deserts and 
their inhabitants. 

Down through the countless ages the silent, 
cushioned tread of the camel has kept pace with 
the peoples of the East, and for aeons, so far as 
history or Arab tradition is concerned, he has 
furnished these nomads with food, shelter, cloth- 
ing, and transportation; has printed his way 
across the trackless deserts, and left his bones 
white-bleached beside the sand-blown trails, 
guidons for future garflas. 

With the advent of human history comes the 
camel as a domesticated animal. Before the 
Genesiacal scribe had closed his book, we find 
camels a main apportionment to the children of 
men, and even to-day the Arab's wealth is counted 
in camels. 

To the far-off sunken districts of Turkestan in 
Central Asia is attributed his original habitation, 
over which he roamed in uncontrolled freedom. 

Broadly speaking, there are two kinds of 
camels — the double-humped Bactrian and the 
single-humped Arabian. The Bactrian threads 
its way over Asia east of the Euphrates and the 
Persian Gulf, clear across to China, and as far 
as the colder mountainous regions of northern 

[209] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Mongolia; the Arabian picks his trail westward 
across the heat-soaked rocks and sand reaches 
of the Arabian and African deserts. 

Not long after my arrival in Tripoli, I took 
with me my man Bringali, and together we jour- 
neyed to a fondiik on the edge of the town. 

"O camel driver!'' spoke Bringali, as he ad- 
dressed a muflBied figure squatting in the shadow 
of the wall, '^have you two good camels .^" 

^^To thy eye, O merchant!'' [judge for thyself], 
replied Mahmood, the driver, as unrolling him- 
self out of his baracan, he led the way across the 
fondiik to where two heavily built draught cam- 
els lazily chewed their cuds and with their short 
tufted tails flicked the flies from their rumps. 

One was a moth-eaten looking beast, for it 
was moulting time, and the owner plucked here 
and there a handful of the soft hair from its 
shaggy hide. The other was closely sheared, as 
is customary when the hottest weather ap- 
proaches. After some bartering I hired them 
and the driver for the afternoon for sixtv cents. 
They were draught camels, "'baggagers," as 
Tommy Atkins calls them down in Egypt. The 
Arab calls him just plain ^' jemal." 

While there are many different breeds of cam- 

[210] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

els, the most distinctive of the Arabians are the 
heavy, slow-moving jemal and his cousin, the 
mehari, a tall, lightly built, swifter, and more 
elegant creature, used almost exclusively for rid- 
ing, known as the riding or running camel. 
Much confusion has existed as to the word drom- 
edary, which many have considered a distinction 
between the Arabian and Bactrian camels; i.e.y 
the one and two humped. Dromedary is not 
a distinction of species, however, but of breed. 
The name, though generally applied to the finely 
bred Arabian, may be applied to an equivalent 
breed of Bactrian. The word dromedary is un- 
doubtedly, in the root at least, derived from the 
Greek dromas [running], finding its suffix, per- 
haps, from the Arabic word mahari (mehari), 
the name of a swift breed of camels raised by the 
tribe of Mahra. This name was given by the 
Greeks, about the time of Cyrus or Xerxes, to 
certain breeds of swift camels. 

One has but to try the experiment of riding 
a baggager to realize that there is not only a dis- 
tinction with a difference, but a distinction with 
a vengeance; and any Christian who willingly 
substitutes the rump of a jemal for terra firma 
deserves all he gets, for even an Arab will often 

[211] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

prefer walking to the lumbar vertebrae of a 
jemal. My intention was to ride three or four 
miles into the Desert and back. 

''Mount, Arfi/' said Bringali, and I strad- 
dled a straw-filled sack thrown across the hind 
quarters of the recumbent jemal, who uttered 
a fearful protest the whole length of his long 
throat, turned his head squarely round and looked 
me full in the face, twitching his mobile upper 
lip with a half-cynical, half-deprecating curl. 
The Arabs ride back of the pack-saddle for 
easier motion and often to be out of reach of the 
jaws of a biter. 

"Up, thou tick of an ass's tail — ar-r-rah!" and 
with a vicious whack the Arab brought his heavy 
stick across the beast's jaw. I lurched forward, 
back, and then forward again; with a final re- 
monstrating grunt, jemal straightened out his 
numerous joints and was on his feet. We were 
soon following between mud walls and palm- 
trees of the oasis of Tripoli to the Desert. 

'"Hike! hike!'' yelled Mahmood, whereupon 
the brute broke into a lumbering, racking jog. 
The camel's natural gait, both in walking and 
running, is said to be a pace, but, so far as I was 
concerned, it might have been a centrifugal back- 

[2n] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

action trying to describe an eccentric rotary mo- 
tion two ways at once on cobblestones. 

''Adda! adda!'' [turn to one side] shrieked the 
Arab, just in time to save me from coUision with 
a hedge of prickly cactus. The camel, with head 
and tail outstretched almost horizontally, was 
now fairly under way. The cushion had slewed 
to one side, and I gathered my knees up under 
me and clung desperately to my only support, 
the tree of the pack-saddle, in order to avoid 
slipping down the inclined plane of his rump. 

Set a section of a North Carolina twelve-rail 
fence at an angle of forty-five degrees in a farm- 
wagon, straddle this and have the whole outfit, 
yourself included, run away with over a rocky 
New England blueberry pasture, and you will 
form a mild conception of the sensation of riding 
a baggage camel in the Sahara. 

''Hot! hot!'' [slower], bellowed Mahmood, 
pufiing along in the distance. Praise be to Allah ! 
the jemal obeyed. 

"Sh, sh!'' [whoa], gurgled the perspiring 
Mahmood. 

The place where I lit was soft sand. 

I walked home. 

Often in the twilight of early mornings, shortly 

[213] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

after the muezzin's call from the minaret of the 
neighboring Djema-el-Daruj, I would wind my 
way with soft-scuffing Arabs through the narrow 
by-ways of Tripoli to the great sand reach of the 
Suk-el-Thalat beyond the town walls. In the 
obscure light, shacks, muffled figures, heaps of 
produce, and camels humped themselves over the 
sand stretch like the promontories of a miniature 
mountain range, and the feathered palms of the 
oasis to the east were traced in violet against the 
forthcoming rose of early dawn. Then the sun 
rosft over tlicm and painted out the dim mono- 
tones of things in strong contrasts of lights and 
shades. 

Kvfirywhere was l\\(t jemal; late arrivals, 
heavily loaded, carc^fully thrcsadc^d their way 
along; oIIkts, relieved of their loads, stood singly 
or in small grou[)S, or lay resting on the sand, 
oflcifi acquiring most inconceivable and distorted 
positions, Ix^'iring out the remark of a Tri[)oli 
frifsnd that the camel with his stifl* legs and su[)ple 
neck was ^^n conibinnlion of s(Tp(*nt nrid Innif)- 
post." 

With rvcry group of camels was at least one 
caravanc^er Ml to guard tluun, and he was usually 
found seated by the guns of his comrades, chat- 

[214] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

ting perhaps, with neighboring caravan men. 
His camels were hobbled by short ropes tied 
under the fetlock of the fore legs, or, in the case 
of the more obstreperous, a fore leg was doubled 
up, and in this position securely lashed. Now 
and then the caravaneer rose leisurely and tossed 
into the centre of the caravan [for the camels are 
usually facing one another in a ring] some green 
fodder — bishna or shtell [guinea corn cut green], 
or other herbage with which they are usually fed 
in the suks and oases. 

To the stranger the greater portion of the Suk 
might well appear a camel market, but go to 
that section beyond the esparto jetty, bordering 
the coast road which leads to Sciara-el-Sciut and 
Tajura. Here you find a living, dun-colored sea 
of camels; old and young, male and female, pure 
breeds and hybrids, well-conditioned and ill- 
seasoned, ranging in color from the rare black 
camel throiigli the various values of dun colors 
and l)rowns to snow white. This is the camel 
market. 

Far f)ack in the Jebel and plateau lands of the 
Desert the various Arab and Jterber trilxNs breed 
and raise large herds of camels, pasturing them 
on the wild esparto grass, mimosa bnsluvs, and 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

the dry camel thorn of the Desert, from all of 
which the camel derives nutriment, remarkable 
to me until I once saw a camel devour with 
relish a piece of dry wood. The principal Tripoli 
camel raisers are the tribes of Jebel, Sert, Zin- 
tan, Orfella, and Weled-Bu-Sef, who, with the 
small owners, have, it is estimated, brought the 
total number of camels to four hundred thousand, 
or one camel to every one and a quarter square 
miles of the vilayet of Tripoli. From these far- 
off arid breeding grounds I have passed on the 
trail herds of camels travelling south toward 
Murzuk, there to be sold to fill up the gaps in the 
ranks of the trans-Saharan caravans or other 
herds being driven north toward the great coast, 
trade centres, Bengazi and Tripoli, where, in 
the jemal Suk of Tripoli, they fetch, generally, 
from ten to thirty dollars per head. 

But follow yonder thickset merchant, he with 
the scarlet haik and six fezes under his tightly 
wound gold-embroidered turban. He is in 
search of an exceptional, full-grown male draught 
camel; one with a weight of close on to twelve 
hundred pounds; which can stand the strain 
and carry his goods safely the six to eleven 
months across the deserts to the Sudan. At 

[216] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

last he stops before a superb-looking beast. 
The top of its great shoulder is on a level with 
the Tripoline's turban; he examines the mouth, 
tail, feet, and skin, and runs his henna-stained 
fingers through the long woolly hair to the top of 
its hump, seven feet from the ground; this he 
finds full and firm. 

"'Gedash! O brother of many camels, is this 
one of thy herd.^" 

''May Allah lengthen thy age, O wealthy 
one,'' replied the swarthy man from thewadan; 
'Uhou hast truly picked the jewel of my eye." 

"Jewel, sayest thou, but one of ill omen, for 
truly he is darkish in color.'' 

"'By the Prophet, throw him into the river and 
he will rise with a fish in his mouth"; and thus 
they bartered with all the naivete and leisure of 
the Oriental trader, to whom time is invisible, 
but medjidies may be held in the hand. It was 
not until the morning waned and they both trod 
upon their own shadows that the sale was effected 
to the amount of sixty dollars. 

''Baleuk!" came a warning cry as Riley and 
I steered our way one morning through the 
narrow channel ways of the Suk. 

''That was a close call," said he, as the great 

[217] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

jaws of a biter swung by me with a snap like a 
steel trap. ''In the cold, rainy months of our 
winter one has to be constantly on one's guard. 
Only a short time ago I saw a Turkish soldier 
lose half his face in this very Suk; another had the 
end of his elbow torn off. Watch the reverse 
rotary motion of that camel's chew, and the fear- 
ful results of the grinding nature of his sharp 
incisors and canine teeth, in both upper and 
lower jaw, may be realized, often so mashing the 
bones that amputation of the limb is neces- 
sary." 

In passing recumbent camels the stranger 
need watch the head only, but when on their feet, 
its ''heads and tails," for a camel can be a pow- 
erful kicker. Such are the means of defence with 
which nature has endowed him that one blow 
of his foot, out and straight behind, will drop 
most animals to the earth; then, kneeling on his 
victim and using his strong neck as a leverage, 
he tears him to pieces with his huge jaws. Biters 
are often muzzled, as are always camels of cara- 
vans bearing guinea corn or barley, to keep them 
from biting through the sacks. The majority of 
the camels are by no means naturally vicious, 
and much of their ugliness is due to the lack of 

[218] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

care and brutal treatment of hired drivers. It is 
said that camels never forget a kindness or an 
injury. 

At times, perhaps from the heat, or without 
apparent cause, the camel is seized with a ter- 
rific frenzy; then look out — for he will attack 
driver, other camels, or any living thing. But, 
on the whole, this ancient burden-bearer of man 
is a dignified, long-suffering, lugubrious anom- 
aly, his joylessness being tersely expressed in the 
answer to the Arab riddle, ''Why has the camel 
a split lip.^'' 

''Because once a camel tried to laugh.'' 

He is not aggressive; his indifference toward 
man seems almost contemptuous. He is imper- 
turbable and patient beyond precedent, and on 
the march will continue to stagger on until his 
last ounce of strength has been exhausted. 

Paradoxical as it may seem, he dislikes isola- 
tion from man or his own kind. He has an 
endless repertoire of the most unearthly noises, 
dominant among which is a sound best likened 
to blowing bubbles in a basin of water under 
forced draught and in a minor key. 

I well remember one camel which stood apart 
from the others yawping a solo far out on the 

[219] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

plain. Well fed, unhobbled, and unburdened 
save for his saddle, he had every reason to be 
happy, but there he stood with mouth agape, 
belching forth, so far as I could see, just out of 
pure cussedness. The noise rolled away over the 
Desert in great volumes of sound — a voice crying 
in the wilderness. 

'^The horse,'' say the town Arabs, "is a gen- 
tleman, the camel a boor.'' Not only has the 
latter been loaded with literal burdens heavier 
than he should bear and with the unjust igno- 
miny of a mean disposition, but he has also been 
saddled, figuratively speaking, with the respon- 
sibilities of the vindictive tempers of certain 
Arabs, because of feeding on his flesh. To me 
he seems to be, in one respect at least, like his 
Arab master — a fatalist. 

In one corner of the Suk a camel doctor sat 
beside a forge of hot coals held in a native earth- 
enware stove, occasionally blowing them with 
his bellows and adjusting the heating irons. 
Now and then an Arab approaching him with his 
camel would consult him, perhaps about lame- 
ness or ophthalmia. One Hadji came leading a 
limping camel. As firing was considered the cure, 
as for many ills, it was first necessary to render 

[220] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

the patient powerless. The '^doctor" called 
from the neighboring coffee-booth a number of 
men; the owner ordered the animal to kneel 
across a piece of rope stretched on the sand, 
whereupon the fore legs and a hind leg were se- 
curely lashed to his body. Two of the men sat 
upon his muzzled head; the lame leg, to which 
a rope had been fastened at the hock joint, was 
pulled to its full length and the injured tendon 
seared by the ''doctor." 

Turning from the distasteful sight, I followed 
the edge of the sand. Not many yards from the 
shore the gurgling, groaning sound of. a jemal 
mingling with the swash of the Mediterranean 
attracted my attention to where two Blacks had 
forced a half-submerged camel to his knees, 
where they scrubbed and scoured his hide. 
This is a common sight off the Tripoli Suk, for 
camels not only can be made to enter water, thus 
making excellent fording animals, but are fine 
swimmers as well. 

We continued on toward the town. Its green- 
topped minarets which spiked the blue sky 
seemed gradually to telescope below her bastion 
walls, and we passed under the Outer Gate to 

lunch and siesta. 

[221] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Ever and anon there would float in through 
my window the blatant sound of the jemal, whose 
defiant, gurgling groan outvied all other noises 
as it echoed down the narrow street. 

One early morning a pandemonium below my 
window awoke me. "'Baleuk! Bur-r-ro!'' rose 
above the din of men and beasts as two drivers 
battered one another with their camel sticks. 
It was the old story of a head-on meeting in a 
narrow way. Finally, by order of a town watch- 
man who happened along, one of the heavily 
burdened camels was made to lie down, thus 
enabling the other to squeeze by. 

Another time, turning quickly toward my win- 
dow as a flash of light chased across the walls 
of my room, I was just in time to see the silvery 
point of a spear head undulate by the window 
ledge. As I surmised, it belonged to a mehari- 
mounted Arab from the south. He was a pictu- 
resque figure, this bronzed man of the Desert, in 
white burnoose, and turban bound with camel's- 
hair cord, as he lurched along, — a part of the 
tall, majestic beast he rode. The mehari, or rid- 
ing camel, was rare in northern Tripoli; so, 
seizing my sun helmet, I followed on his trail 
through the town. 

[ 222 ] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

His fine breeding was evident at a glance. 
Compared with the common jemal he was a 
supple, slender, elegant creature, with shorter 
tail, smaller ears, and more protruding chest. 
His dark, heavily lashed eyes in a gracefully 
formed head seemed lustrous and appealing, 
and the tawny-colored coat, as soft as that of a 
jerboa, bore every evidence of care on the part of 
its owner. Piercing the right nostril a bridle- 
ring hung to one side of its long, firm lips, which 
well concealed its teeth. From this ring a single 
rein flapped loosely under its jaw, passing around 
the opposite side of its neck to the rider, who 
was securely ensconced between the horn and 
cantle of a beautiful leather-worked riding sad- 
dle. This was securely fastened over its hump 
by a belly-girth; the rider, sitting cross-legged 
athwart the pommel, rested his feet in the hollow 
of the mehari's neck. 

The surging motion of a mehari may at first 
cause nausea to the rider, but, this condition 
overcome, one seems to be moving onward as 
over a long ground-swell at sea, and many con- 
sider the mehari less fatiguing over long distances 
than the horse. Fabled accounts of its speed are 
a part of Arab tradition. Despite the extremely 

[ 223 ] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

slender character of its legs below the knee, it is 
wiry and muscular and can average thirty miles 
a day under a weight of three hundred pounds 
of rider and outfit for long distances. 

On account of its speed it is often used as a 
transmitter of important despatches — the tele- 
graph of the Arab. The Bedawi of the Egyp- 
tian Sudan still remember Gordon for the fast 
work of his last memorable ride of four hundred 
and three miles in nine days, including halts, and 
Burckhardt gives an account of a mehari doing 
one hundred and fifteen miles in eleven hours, 
which included forty minutes occupied in being 
twice carried across the Nile. 

I followed the mehari out beyond the city walls 
to its owner's camp in the Suk. Here the Arab 
let go the rein, at which it stopped. "Kh!'' 
[kneel], he ejaculated. ''Kh!'' at the same time 
gently striking its right shoulder with his san- 
dalled foot, and dismounted. 

My acquaintance with the camel in town and 
Suk had inspired me with a constantly growing 
respect and interest long before I struck his trail 
in the Desert. Many a night I have ridden be- 
side him, seen him pass noiselessly through the 
palm groves, watched their moonlight shadows 

[224] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

wriggle snakelike over his gaunt, dusky form, 
or, out under the stars in the open Desert, sensed 
his vague spectre as it merged itself into the tone 
of night and the sand. I have listened in the 
darkness to the peaceful chewing of cuds in the 
Desert fonduks, avoided the mad rush for water 
at some long-scented pool, or in the heat of day 
seen his undulating shadow creep along beside 
that of my horse, and then, from under my sun 
helmet, have looked up at him slouching along 
with his great load, ungainly, disproportionate, 
a connecting link between the ruminant and the 
pachyderm. 

For hours at a time I have ridden before, be- 
side, and behind him, ever fascinated by the study 
of his strange temperament and stranger struct- 
ure; a structure which is impressively adapted 
to his needs, making him like the Arab — a creat- 
ure of his environment. 

His small nostrils, which seem to heighten the 
benign expression of his ever-twitching upper 
lip, can be so closed as to keep out the finest sand 
of the terrific gibli. Protected, too, by their long, 
heavy lashes are his dark, protruding eyes, over- 
shadowed by their beetling brows which break 
the fierce rays of the sun glare overhead. On 

[225] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

those parts of his body most subjected to eon- 
tact with heat and friction great callosities are 
formed which act as sort of buffers; the largest 
on his chest, one on each elbow and knee, and 
two on each hock. View him broadside, and the 
contrast in his build fore-and-aft must impress 
even the casual observer, for he seems to fall 
away behind. 

Sometimes, when the monotony of heat and 
sand became unbearable, I would sift back 
through the caravan until I found Sarabi and 
Hallil-ben-Hassam, her one-eyed driver. Sarabi 
was a beautiful white nakat [she camel]. Hallil, 
so it was rumored, had destroyed an eye to avoid 
conscription in Egypt; then, wandering across the 
Libyan Desert and the wild, dangerous regions 
of Barca, he at last, with Sarabi, reached Tripoli. 

Mile upon mile I would watch her great nail- 
tipped cushioned feet squdge noiselessly, along, 
lift and fall, lift and fall, the under sides reflect- 
ing the sand, like lighted orange disks glimpsing 
in her violet-blue shadow. The hinder ones on 
their delicate leg shafts would let into the shadow 
a streak of sunlight which reflected on the 
heavier, stronger fore legs which seem in all 
camels to be bent the wrong way at the knee. 

[226] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

S-c-u-f-f ! and now and again a cloud of golden 
sand dust, always a deeper orange than the sur- 
face, would be kicked out from under her, sift- 
ing, scintillating away into the brilliant sunshine. 

''Hallil," said I, ''how much water will a full- 
grown camel drink?" 

"'O Father of Glasses" [for I wore spectacles], 
replied he, lowering the square Arab fan with 
which he often shaded his eye, ''thou askest me 
something of a riddle. When dwelling in a town 
or oasis, water thy camel as thou wouldst thy 
mare, and it will drink but enough for a time; 
but on the march thy jemal knows well how to 
make provision for the morrow to the amount of 
twelve garaffs [four quarts], so say those who 
have sacrificed him on the trail to quench their 
thirst. But at the end of a journey have a care, 
for many a jemal dies at the pool on drinking at 
such times on an empty stomach. After a long 
march and feeding, Sarabi has drunk well-nigh 
to forty j arras [twenty gallons], and my people 
say that camels have gone fifteen days without 
taking fresh water." 

"Burro!" shouted Hallil at a jemal which had 
jammed against Sarabi's load; and he left me in 
order to adjust her heavy packs. 

[227] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

This was an important matter, for a light load 
ill balanced is more disastrous to a camel than 
a well-adjusted heavy one. Where loads are 
not easily balanced Arabs will use stones or bags 
of sand as a counterweight. So important is it 
that the loads do not gall or chafe the shoulders 
and hump that a careful driver will ever be on 
the alert to arrange the cushions, often using 
green fodder when nothing else is available. 
Sarabi's load had shifted forward, and Hallil 
proceeded to pull from the open end of the cush- 
ions under the pack-saddle great handfuls of 
straw, which he stuffed into the forward cush- 
ions. The wooden frame of the saddle itself is 
fashioned after the primitive saddles, which were 
made from the shoulder-blades and bones of 
animals. 

So wonderfully is the camel adapted to his 
environment that he not only is provided with 
his own water-bottle, so to speak, but also with 
his own larder through that strange protuber- 
ance of adipose tissue, the hump, which on long 
journeys is absorbed into his system, so that lit- 
erally, as the Arabs say, ^^he feeds on his hump." 
During months of rest or little exercise the hump 
increases in size and even flops over and some- 

[ 228 ] 




V 

to 

c 



o 



CAMEL TRAILS 

times grows so full that the skin on either side is 
cut and lifted; large pieces of adipose tissue are 
then sliced off and the skin sewn down again. 
These pieces are considered a great delicacy by 
the Arabs. 

Beside Sarabi trotted a spindle-legged little 
bunch of soft, curly wool, as snow white as the 
mother. Occasionally the little foal, but six 
weeks old, ventured to sport about some yards 
away. During a sand-storm the mother shields 
the young, and during the cold winds of winter 
two camels will often place the young between 
them. 

There is no doubt but that on the march cam- 
els are soothed and cheered by the wild Desert 
songs of the garfla men, songs undoubtedly in- 
duced by the long, monotonous ''voyages'' and 
composed to the regular swaying lurch-lurch 
of the rider or the steady shambling swing of the 
jemal. Its four heavy steps are said to have 
given the metre, and the alternations of long and 
short syllables in the spoken language, the suc- 
cessive pulsations of the metre. 

The old Arabian poetry is pervaded with the 
story and legend of the tending of camels, and 
words and metaphors based upon him or his life 

[ 229 ] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

are in daily use for all manner of strange pur- 
poses. Time or death, for instance, is compared 
to a drinking camel : 

"Deep was the first draught, deep the next, no stint was 
there. 
When Time gulped down the great of al-Aswad and of 
Attab." 

While a tribe bereft of its chief by plague is 
likened to Death with a herd of camels, to whose 
fonduk they must all come home, some sooner, 
some later. 

"And to-day they wander a trembling herd, their kinsman 
Death. 
One speeds away to his rest at eve, one stays till dawn." * 

And so, '^as goes a camel heavy-laden, even- 
paced,'' the '^baggager" moves onward, at times 
to the song of the march or the wild resonant 
note of the oboe and the beat of the gimbreh. 

He can carry from three to six hundred 
pounds, according to his size, being usually 
loaded with about one-third his own weight. 

"Look, Sahib!'' said Hallil one forenoon, as 
he pointed to a far-away distant hill where five 
dark spots broke up its soomth surface and slipped 

^ From the "Hamasah," an anthology compiled in the ninth cen- 
tury, A. D., by Abu Tammam. 

[ 230 ] 



CAAIEL TRAILS 

out of sight, to appear again an hour later. Five 
mehara passed us, the last a black camel. Hallil 
muttered something under his breath, a curse or 
a prayer I wot not, then, turning, he looked at 
me. '"Tis written on the cucumber leaf 
[known everywhere] ^'that a black camel is 
surely a sign of death." Perhaps I detected a 
slight satisfaction in the blink of the one eye of 
this owner of a milk-white camel. 

Camels w^hen in caravan are sometimes driven 
in Indian file, tied headstall to tail, and occa- 
sionally, as is practised in some parts of Egypt, 
by the rope of the nose-ring to tail; the cruel 
consequence may be easily imagined if the for- 
ward camel falls or perhaps stampedes. But 
usually, particularly in Tripoli, they are driven 
in droves or string out irregularly over the Des- 
ert, which is a more natural and humane way, 
besides being the most practical. 

At times it is necessary to punish a fractious 
camel; then his driver falls upon him with a 
large flat club and beats him unmercifully on the 
neck, just back of the jaw, until the poor beast 
rolls to the ground and remains motionless. 

It has been estimated that one out of every 
two camels dies before it reaches five years of 

[231] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

age. The camel under man's care would un- 
doubtedly thrive in almost every country, but it 
is to the tropics that he seems best adapted. 
There, on the long marches, everything must be 
sacrificed to his welfare, for on him depends the 
success of the caravan or the safe arrival of his 
master at the journey's end. Over stony ground 
or rocky mountain paths his soft-cushioned feet 
become cut and bruised; but it is on slippery 
ground or in quicksand that the camel, feeling 
himself slide or beginning to sink, loses his head 
and flounders about. Sometimes he splits himself 
up, or, struggling in the quicksand, breaks a 
leg or disjoints a hip. Then the heavy load is 
dragged off his back, a crescent blade flashes in 
the sunlight, or bang! goes a long flint-lock, and 
another victim is added to the unending death roll. 
Sometimes, following down the Arbar-Arsat, 
I would turn into a narrow by-way, and, passing 
from the hot street, would enter a small, dark 
building used as a corn mill. Ensconced in a 
dusty seat in a far corner, I would watch Nageeb 
plod softly and uncertainly round and round the 
pivot of the millstone. A few dim rays sifted 
down from the roof through a drapery of cob- 
webs on to Nageeb's gaunt, mangy hide and shed 

[232] 



CAMEL TRAILS 

a scant light over his path. But it mattered Httle 
to him, for Nageeb was bHnd, and near to bhnd- 
ness, too, was old Bakri, his master, who now 
and again emptied corn into the mill and shov- 
elled up that which was ground. 

Ten years before the shrill '^Lu-lu-lu" cry of 
welcome of the women and the firing of guns 
had announced the arrival of a long-looked-for 
caravan, eleven months' journey from the Sudan 
and Nageeb, one of the remaining few who had 
commenced the voyage, exhausted and broken 
by the long strain, staggered ''camelfully" with 
his load into the Suk-el-Burka. It was his last 
journey with the garfla, and old Bakri, then in 
need of a camel, had picked him up in the Suk 
for a song. 

But Nageeb had made the rounds of fifty 
Ramadans — more than the usual years allotted 
to camel. Before long, on some Suk day, old 
Bakri's mill will cease its grinding, and leaving 
the Arab butcher shops of the Suk-el-Thalet, 
his bent, turbaned form will bear away a mangy 
pelt. ''Even so!" his cry will be heard about the 
market. ''Even so! The hide of my brown 
camel for a trifle. In the name of the Prophet, 
it is excellent." 

[233] 



CHAPTER TWELVE 

A night's ride with ARAB BANDITS 

MUCH of my travelling was tiresome and 
monotonous. As a rule, the Turkish and 
Arab ofl&cials were courteous, and the people in 
both towns and country were rarely deliberately 
annoying. Most of the people worked at hon- 
est labor, and it is not these that the traveller as 
a rule has to fear, but certain hostile Desert 
tribes, marauding town and Desert thieves. 
There is a saying in the Sahara that '^unless a 
man is killed, he lives forever." By Desert law 
the act of passing through those wastes practically 
entails forfeiture of goods to whoever can seize 
them; so highway robbery is not only practised, 
but is, by a large class, generally conceded to be 
right. 

In Tripoli, as in most semitropical countries, 
too careful consideration cannot be given to 
one's mode of diet and dress. Easily digested 
foods and boiled water are essential to the Occi- 

[234] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

dental traveller. From experience I found that 
a suit of khaki, a thick flannel shirt, light under- 
wear, and the indispensable flannel cholera belt 
[to protect the stomach and back from the sun] 
and sun helmet were the most practical and com- 
fortable clothing. To wear an ordinary straw 
hat in the Desert would rashly invite sunstroke. 

I carried no tent, but frequently needed my 
blanket at night. Once when camping by a 
small lake near the coast, my men improvised 
a tent out of Mohammed's baracan, my sketching 
umbrella, and the rushes. Under my rug was 
always spread a piece of palm matting to render 
less direct the attacks of sand fleas which abound 
in the oases. 

My meals usually consisted of Arab bread, 
fresh eggs, tea, and fruits. Sometimes we bought 
these and occasionally chickens from fonduk 
keepers or Bedawi. When we had occasion to 
carry a watermelon for half a day on the don- 
key's pack, the melon became heated through 
and through by the sun; but, on cutting it open, 
the slightest breeze, no matter how hot, caused 
immediate evaporation, and within ten or fifteen 
minutes the melon would actually seem cool to 
one's taste. Water was boiled when feasible, 

[235] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

and we took as large a stock of it as we could 
conveniently carry, sometimes in coolers, some- 
times in a goat-skin. The wells were occasionally 
dry or foul, and water contained in earthen jars 
at fonduks was often stagnant or ill cared for. 
Mohammed usually acted as cook. Not only 
our menu but our culinary outfit was a simple 
affair — a small earthen stove and a few dry 
palm leaves for fuel. Over this he brewed tea, 
boiled eggs, and even roasted chicken. Often at 
evening I would stretch out on my rug and 
watch the low glow of the embers trace a line of 
crimson down his profile or a flicker illumine his 
swarthy face, and cast his big shadow on some 
tree trunk or fonduk wall. Then, too, I had 
other than aesthetic reasons for watching him, 
for chopped horsehair in one's food does not go 
well in one's insides, and is no more conducive to 
good health than poisoned ground-glass parti- 
cles surreptitiously deposited in one's shoes. 
Many a night I would lie awake, looking up at 
the silver stars into the far-off silent night, then 
fall asleep — to sleep lightly, as was my habit 
when in the open — and lack of sleep more than 
anything else was the most trying part of my 
travelling. 

[236] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

On the mountain slopes we often started cov- 
eys of partridges, and out on the sandy Desert 
great carrion crows would flap across our trail. 
In some sections lions are found, but I never 
ran across one. Now and again we would spend 
a few hours in one of the Desert towns to 
replenish our supplies. In the low tablelands as 
we approached the Jebel Nagahza Mountains 
we came upon some Bedawi shacks, generally 
guarded by white wolflike dogs. About these 
habitations the Bedawi plant their gardens, sur- 
rounding them by low mud walls. Sometimes 
a Bedaween family will return to the same spot 
at certain seasons, year after year, the sheik fre- 
quently leaving some male member in charge 
during the family's peregrinations. 

A large onion plant is an important factor in 
agricultural districts, not as an article of food, 
for even a goat will not touch it [it is said to be 
poisonous], but as a sort of Arab ^^ registry of 
deeds/' The country Arabs keep no written 
record of their real-estate transactions; land is 
handed from father to son, and its divisions and 
subdivisions set off by rows of these scattered 
plants, their great bulbs protruding above the 
soil. 

[237] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

One day over hot rock wastes of the Jebel Na- 
gahza we rode our exhausted horses fifteen long 
hours, trying to cover their heads as much as 
possible with our own shadows. Almost every 
step was a stumble, for we had little hope of their 
surviving the hard, staggering pull over the last 
stretch of mountain trail. It was a test not only 
of endurance, but of ability — on my part, at least 
— to appear unobservant of certain circumstances, 
for I had suspected Muraiche, suspected him of 
an indefinite something; but the workings of his 
wily old Arab mind, its reasons and its purposes, 
were to me as mysterious as the great wastes of 
the Sahara over which we had been travelling, and 
as elusive as the noxious sand lizards which now 
and again scurried from beneath our horses' feet. 

The long, hot caravan trail at sundown emp- 
tied us into the little Arab town of Khoms. 
Here we parted with a caravan, forty camels 
strong, bound for Misurata, with which we had 
travelled for the last three days. Mohammed 
and Ali were on foot and drove the big pack 
donkey; while Muraich^, like myself, rode an 
Arab stallion. His bent old figure, now ahead 
of me, now by my side, seemed lost in the folds 

of his baracan. 

[238] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

Since sunrise, as we approached Khoms, a 
change had come over Muraiche; he no longer 
obeyed my orders with alacrity, and when, sev- 
eral times, it was necessary for me to repeat 
them sharply he seemed to awaken with a start 
from deep meditation. This at the time I 
attributed to the fatigue of our journey and an- 
ticipated relaxation, for a rest had been promised 
at Klioms. Following the custom of the coun- 
try, I reported to the Turkish governor on our 
arrival, and saw my men and animals comfort- 
ably fixed in a fonduk, with orders to have every- 
thing in readiness to start the following after- 
noon; then spent the night at the house of Mr. 
Tate, the only Englishman in the place. 

This night in mid July and the following 

night, strangely different, stand out strongly in 

my memory — perhaps for the contrast with the 

dusty, monotonous travelling of other days and 

the sleeping in dirty fonduks; or, perhaps, in 

contrast with each other. If you would know 

the pleasure of bathing, of sleeping beneath the 

snow-white sheets of a bed, travel day after day 

on the burning, scorching, yellow-red sand of 

the Sahara; fill your eyes, nose, and ears, your 

very soul with its fine powdered dust; tie your 

[239] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

handkerchief, after the manner of the Tuaregs, 
across your mouth to prevent evaporation, that 
your throat may not parch too much. Travel 
early and late to make the most of the cool of the 
morning and evening. Sleep lightly if you are 
a lone stranger, and do not mind the uncom- 
fortable lump of your pistol-holsters under your 
arm; they are better in your hands than in the 
other fellow's. So when, sunburnt, saddle-sore, 
and tired with long riding and little sleep, you 
find, what I did, a bath of delicious cold water, 
brought from an old Roman well still used by 
the Arabs in Khoms, and a snow-white bed, give 
praise to Allah. Then let the barbaric noises of 
a wild Sudanese dance in the distance and the 
musical chant of the Muezzin melt away with 
your thoughts into the quiet of the African night. 
Bright and early the next morning a Turkish 
soldier brought to the house an invitation for an 
audience with the Governor, and I was ushered 
into his official apartments in company with 
Muraiche and the Chief of Police, a half-breed 
Arab-Negro. Our conversation was translated, 
through two interpreters, from English into 
Arabic and from Arabic into Turkish, and vice 
versa. 

[240] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

I explained to his Excellency how I regretted 
our inability to converse directly with one an- 
other. He naively replied that it mattered not, 
as he would look with four eyes instead of two, 
which I have not the slightest doubt he did while 
I was in the vicinity of Khoms. Meantime, 
Turkish coffee was served with the inevitable 
cigarette, and the customary diplomatic saluta- 
tions, etc., effervesced back and forth. I still 
wonder in just what manner and form mine 
eventually reached him. 

On coming out I found our horses at the pal- 
ace gate, and also a mounted zabtie [Turkish 
guard] who had been assigned to conduct me 
about the Roman ruins of Lebda, which had 
formerly occupied the site and neighborhood of 
Khoms. We rode east from the city out into the 
plain, passed down a small ravine from whose 
sides I picked out some fragments of Roman 
pottery, and soon came to a large depression in 
the landscape. In the bed of this were reeds, 
through which a broad, shallow stream inean- 
dered to the sea, and into whose waters two half- 
naked Blacks were casting a net. This depres- 
sion had once been a splendid Roman harbor, 
flanked on either side by massive stone quays 

[ 241 ] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

and majestic buildings. Portions of these still 
remained, including the ruins of a large Roman 
palace. But gone is this legacy, scattered over 
the plain and destroyed by ruthless Arabs and 
more ruthless Turks. Some sections, too, of 
the great stone quays remained; but where 
were the thousands of Mediterranean galleys 
which once moored to those piles and ring-bolts ? 
Where are the moving, breathing crowds, in 
Roman toga and Arab baracan, which once 
thronged those quays in the shadow of their 
classic architecture and the awnings of the little 
booths ? 

Wonderful capitals and other fragments were 
Jying broken and marred about the plain. I 
smuggled a few fragments of marble details into 
my saddle-bags unbeknown to the guard, for so 
opposed are the Turks to a Christian's acquiring 
or even interesting himself in antiquities that the 
most beautiful sculptures and relics are often 
deliberately destroyed. Recently a statue which 
was taken from Khoms to Tripoli for the gardens 
of the Turkish Club was first deliberately mu- 
tilated by knocking off the head and arms, pre- 
sumably that it might not attract the covetous 
eyes of some dog of a Christian. 

[242] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

Had it not been for a casual stroll through the 
Suk later that afternoon my men might now be 
recounting a different yarn over their smoking 
kief and coos-coos. Threading my way among 
men, animals, shacks, scattered garden produce, 
grains, and wares which covered the ground in 
interesting heaps, and pushing through a small 
crowd which had gathered about me, their 
curiosity and cupidity aroused by a gold filling 
in one of my teeth, I stopped for a moment. 
For there, in the middle of an open space, beside 
a Marabout's [saint's] tomb Muraiche was en- 
grossed in a low conversation with one of the 
irregular guards, an Arab in the Turkish em- 
ploy. Disappearing unobserved to another part 
of the Suk, I should have thought no more about 
the matter, but for the fact that when, later in 
the morning, these two met in my presence, by 
the Governor's palace, they omitted the custom- 
ary b'salaams and effusive greetings of Moham- 
medan acquaintances, and by no word or sound 
betrayed the least recognition. 

Reminding Muraiche of my previous orders to 
have everything in readiness by two o'clock, 
I sauntered up to lunch at Mr. Tate's. The 
route to my next point of destination, the little 

[MS] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

town of Kussabat, was not only over the rough 
mountainous range of the Jebel Gharian, but it 
was considered by the Arabs dangerous on 
account of thieves. Being under the necessity of 
making the journey that day, I was anxious to 
arrive there by sundown. Consequently, when, 
by half-past two, none of my outfit put in an 
appearance, one of the house servants was des- 
patched to learn the reason. 

First by wily excuses, and then by an open 
mutiny, my men delayed the departure until 
half-past five, when, by threats to appeal to the 
Turkish Pasha to have them thrown into prison 
and engage new men, we were finally ready to 
start. 

''But a guard, Arfi.^'' Twice Muraiche had 
asked the question, and twice I answered him 
that the Turkish oflScials had been notified of my 
intention to depart at two o'clock. Had they in- 
tended to send a guard they would have done so. 
However, being desirous of conforming to cus- 
tom, Muraiche was sent to the Governor's palace 
with instructions to report our departure, but 
not to ask for a guard, as I personally shared in 
the common opinion that often the traveller is 
safer without one. 

[ 244 ] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

I watched Muraiche after he rounded the 
corner and disappeared at a gallop down the 
narrow street to the palace, from which, imme- 
diately reappearing, he set off to a different 
quarter of the town. Questioned on his return, 
he replied that an officer had sent him to notify 
a guard who was to go with us. 

"You'll see your way all right, for the full 
moon ought to be up in about two hours, but 
ride lasty' were Tate's parting words. It was 
good advice and had often been given me before. 
To travellers in North Africa, particularly those 
among the French colonists of Tunis and Algeria, 
the saying, ''Never allow an Arab to ride behind 
you," has become an adage, and this night in the 
Gharian I proved its worth. 

We rode to the top of the steep trail, down 
which the slanting afternoon sunbeams shot by 
in golden shafts. Back and beyond us these sun 
shafts sped until, striking the white walls of 
Khoms, they broke, spilling over them a flood of 
orange gold, diffusing her surrounding olive 
groves and date-palms with a golden green, and 
through the shimmering, sifting gold mist above 
it all sparkled a scintillating sea of blue. Our 
course now lay almost due south to the region of 

[245] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

the Djebel Gharian, the region I had hoped to 
enter and pass through by day. 

Resting on the site of ancient Lebda, my 
golden city of Khoms lay nearly an hour's ride 
behind us, and as yet no guard, to my entire sat- 
isfaction. This was short-lived, however, for 
soon a yell, such as is rarely loosed from the 
throat of a human being, caused us suddenly to 
draw rein. Down the steep, rocky incline, where 
an ordinary horseman could but carefully pick 
his way, out on to the sandy plateau upon which 
we had just ridden, riding wild and giving his 
lithe animal free rein, dashed a guard, and when 
abreast of us, drew up short out of a full run, 
after the manner of Arab horsemen. 

""B'salaam," to Muraiche, and a nod of the 
head to me, which was slightly reciprocated; yes, 
very slightly, for before me was the one man out 
of all the Arabs I had ever seen that I would 
have chosen last for a companion that night. 
There, in the glow of the late afternoon sun- 
light, the stock of his short carbine resting on 
his saddle, and the sweat making bright the high 
lights on his evil brassy-bronze face, sat the 
worst cutthroat it was ever my fortune to look 
upon — Muraiche's friend, he of the market-place. 

[ 246 ] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

During a short conversation with Muraiche, 
the guard's pecuKar eyes scanned me from the 
rowels of my spurs to the top of my sun helmet. 
Evidently the main objects of his searching 
glance were in my holsters, covered by my 
jacket; meantime, however, I lost no detail of his 
weapon, a hammerless magazine rifle of modern 
make. Then he addressed me in Arabic, but 
not speaking the language, I turned to Muraiche. 

^^He tells us to start,'' the latter replied. 

This sudden assumption of leadership came 
most unexpectedly, his seeming intention being 
to bring up the rear. Now Arabs, though igno- 
rant, are daring; but like all Orientals, fully re- 
spect only one thing, and that is a just and strong 
hand, which they must feel in order to appreci- 
ate. Consequently my course was plain. 

"Tell the guard to head the caravan and that 
if he goes with me, he goes as one of my men." 
As we got under way the guard rode slowly 
ahead, meanwhile taking sidelong glances at 
me out of the corners of his villainous gray- 
green eyes, filled with all the hatred of the Mos- 
lem for the Christian. I realized that never in 
my life had the assets and liabilities of my status 
quo received such careful auditing. 

[247] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

When the great red lantern of the sun disk 
had sunk beneath the earth Hne, from without 
the deep, mysterious valleys crept the blue- violet 
mist films of twilight shadows, absorbing and 
leavening into their darker tones the brighter 
afterglow, against which moved the dark shapes 
of horses and men. Suddenly they bunched 
themselves and the guard dismounted, then 
Mohammed and Ali went on with the pack 
donkey. 

''The guard's saddle-girth is broken,'' Mu- 
raiche informed me. ''But we will fix it and you 
can ride on very slowly." 

"I will wait," was my reply. "But you ride on, 
Muraiche." The girth was soon "fixed," which 
consisted in a vain effort to cinch it up another 
hole. 

Steeper and more rugged grew the trail, and 
we entered the range of the Gharian. As day- 
light dimmed, an uncomfortable darkness hung 
over the mountains for a short space; then the 
moon glow appeared in the east, and soon the 
moon itself lifted its pale, distorted shape above 
the horizon, and suffused everything with its 
pale blue-green light, so cool and so satisfying to 
the eye and mind in contrast to the hot sun glare 

[MS] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

that, during the day, reflected through to the 
very brain. 

But the dark shadow masses of boulders, 
parched shrub patches, and shaded slopes — what 
uncanny things might they not contain? And 
those gorges, too, which in the day reflected heat 
like an oven from their red, hot sides ? Now they 
were cold, dank, and foreboding, and a shudder 
passed over me. Then I reasoned with myself. 
I was tired, unduly apprehensive; the conditions 
of heat and long days in the saddle had over- 
taxed my nerves. I fell to watching the agile 
bodies of my Arabs on foot, as, tiring of the 
pace, they dropped back until just in front of 
me. Mohammed in particular; how the lights 
and shadows played over his powerful, animal- 
like form ; how subtly his shoulder and calf mus- 
cles moved under his sleek, dark skin; how they 
fascinated me! Willingly through the long jour- 
ney they had served me, save at Khoms. I 
started, my dreaming suddenly ended, and almost 
involuntarily my spurs caused my horse to start 
ahead. The two men had so imperceptibly les- 
sened their pace that they now had dropped just 
back of me, one on either side of my horse, and 
in Mohammed's hand was a wicked-looking 

[249] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

knobbed club, which usually he had kept stuck 
in one of the packs. Each carried a long Arab 
knife, so Muraiche was ordered to tell the men 
to keep alongside the donkey. 

Down the other side of the moonlit valley 
a caravan was coming toward us heading for 
Khoms. Taking a small note-book from my 
pocket, I wrote: '^Should any accident occur to 
me, thoroughly investigate my men, including the 
guard,'' and signed it. Tearing the leaf from the 
book, and folding it, I watched the great lum- 
bering camels approach us, and dropped a little 
farther behind, intending to give it to the head 
man of the caravan for him to bear to the Muchia 
[governor] at Khoms. Then deciding that, 
under the circumstances, there was not sufficient 
evidence to thus prejudice the Turkish author- 
ities against my men, I chewed it up and spat 
it into a patch of sand lilies. 

From the distance came the faint report of 
a gun. Every one of my men heard it, but 
no comment was made, and we pushed deeper 
into the mountains. On our left, looking toward 
the moon, objects were indistinct in the half- 
tone and shadow, while seen from there, we ap- 
peared in the moonlight. Now and again I sensed 

[250] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

moving shadows from that direction, but it was 
some time before I was sure that they were living 
forms following us, perhaps hyenas, jackals, or 
some sly cheetah. 

As we made sharp turns at times in rounding 
the mountains, and their sides stood out in sil- 
houette against the sky, I bent low on my horse's 
neck and watched intently. At one of these turns 
where the sky cut deep into the mountain side, 
leaving every irregularity in relief against it, I no- 
ticed that men were following us. First, away up 
on the side, a fezzed head and the barrel of a long 
Arab flint-lock bobbed against the sky for a sec- 
ond, as, dodging catlike amongst the rocks, their 
owner rounded the side. Then a second and a 
third appeared, and I knew we were followed by 
thieves. This was not comforting, but if we were 
attacked, the guard's rifle, Muraiche's old-fash- 
ioned five-shooter, and my two revolvers would 
be more than a match for them in point of arma- 
ment. 

One thing puzzled me, however, until later. 
The manner of these Desert thieves being invari- 
ably to attack from the rear, I could not account 
for their seeming to forge ahead of us. Watch- 
ing my men, I saw that they, too, were aware of 

[251] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

the thieves ; and Muraiche, who had been watch- 
ing me closely when we occasionally rode abreast, 
remarked: ^' This is a bad country here; I think 
robbers are following us." 

''Yes, Muraiche; there are men off there. I 
have seen three." 

"Allah knows, everything is in the hand of 
Allah. ' There is neither might nor power save in 
Allah, the High, the Mighty.' ^ La, Arfi, you 
must not ride behind; you had better ride first." 

"^^Then I will ride last, Muraiche, for mine are 
the best weapons, and I shoot better than any 
of you." 

After a sharp turn we wound along a valley 
side. Just below us the dense foliage of an an- 
cient olive grove shut out every gleam of light 
from its black interior, the gnarled old branches 
reaching out as though to drag into their depths 
any who might come within their grasp, and the 
same weird sensations of awe passed over me 
which I felt as a boy when I pored over Dore's 
illustrations of the wandering Dante and Virgil 
in that wonderful, grewsome nether world. 

My sensation was complete when, as though 
it was the most natural thing in the world for 

* This saying is used by Moslems when anything alarming occurs. 

[252] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

a small caravan to leave the trail, dangerous at its 
best, my guard led and the men proceeded to 
follow him toward the dark wood, which it was 
manifestly their purpose to enter. 

"^Muraiche! Why are the men leaving the 
trail ?" Perhaps he did not hear, for the ground 
was rough and the stones rattled down the steep 
bank. 

"Muraiche," I called loudly and peremptor- 
ily, riding up to him, '^tell the men to halt,'' 
at the same time drawing one of my pistols and 
resting it across my saddle. Then I repeated my 
question. 

"The guard says it is shorter," Muraiche re- 
plied, still following the guard. 

"Then let the guard take it if he chooses. 
Order the men on to the trail," and we scram- 
bled our horses and donkey up the steep incline. 

The guard turned in his saddle for a moment, 
made a low reply to Muraiche, then descended 
and disappeared in the darkness. Skirting the 
wood for half a mile, we passed beyond it. 
My already well-aroused suspicions of intended 
treachery on the part of my men were conjfirmed 
when, in spite of the fact that the guard had by 
far the fastest-walking horse of our outjfit and 

[253] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

had taken a shorter route, there was no sign of 
him until we had passed a hundred yards beyond 
the grove and halted. 

As he emerged I heard the faint click of his car- 
bine as he pulled the bolt to a full cock, upon 
which, half turning my horse, I awaited him; as 
he neared us I saw that he had been running his 
horse, which was breathing hard and sweating. 
Then the truth flashed upon me: my men were 
in league with the thieves who, by a precon- 
certed arrangement, had gone ahead and hidden 
in the grove, there to set upon me in the dark- 
ness, relying upon my confidence in the guard to 
follow his lead. Failing in their end, the guard 
had stopped to parley with them and then made 
up time. Had their place of ambush not been 
so evidently dangerous to enter, they might have 
been successful. Nor would it have been the 
first time a guard and outfit had returned with- 
out the ^' Arfi," telling a good story of how they 
were attacked by thieves and escaped, while he 
was killed. 

Now here in front of me that picturesque, 

venomous-looking devil sat, his rifle full-cocked 

across the pommel of his saddle, my other men 

at a little distance to my right, and I a good mark 

[254] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

with my white sun helmet — but my revolver 
resting on my saddle covered the guard. 

"Muraiehe, tell the guard to uncock his riflce 
It might go off by accident/' With a sullen 
look the guard obeyed. 

^^Now tell him to ride first to protect the goods. 
Let the men with the pack donkey follow, then 
you behind them. I'll ride last. If any thieves 
approach within gunshot, warn them away at 
once, or I shall fire. You understand .?" 

"Yes, Arfi," and we strung out in single file. 
My purpose was to place the guard who pos- 
sessed the most effective weapon where it was 
practically of no use against me; for this gave 
me a screen of the men and animals. The dan- 
ger from Mohammed and Ali depended entirely 
upon their ability to close in on me, so while in 
that position there was nothing to fear from them. 
As for Muraiche, he was under my direct sur- 
veillance, with the advantage all my way, as I 
rode with drawn weapon. 

But I knew the Arab well enough to know 
that so long as he is not excited or his fanaticism 
aroused he will not risk his own skin while strat- 
egy will serve his ends; and also knew that I 
had no one to depend upon but myself, and that 

[255] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

my safety lay in maintaining, as far as possible, 
a normal condition of things. So I watched; 
watched my men in front and watched to the 
side and behind for signs of the thieves, of whom 
I caught glimpses now and again. My Arabs' 
conjunction with these men thwarted, it was but 
natural that they should communicate with each 
other to further their plans, and in various ways 
they sought to do this. While caravan men, when 
marching through a safe district and many strong, 
often chant to ease their dreary march or to 
pacify the camels, in our circumstances the less 
attention we could draw to ourselves the better. 
So when Mohammed started to chant in a loud 
voice by way of giving information, he was 
ordered to be quiet. 

Again, as we rounded a sharp bend, Ali made 
a break for the brush, but he started a second 
too soon. I saw him and called his name sharply; 
he halted and returned to the caravan. 

When we passed within gunshot of objects 
which might conceal a foe I rode abreast of 
Muraiche, using him to screen myself, knowing 
well that they would attack only from the side 
which, from their position, placed us in the full 
moonlight. And in the narrow ravines, though 

[ 256 ] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

he growled, I often crowded him close, affording 
little or no opportunity to the Arabs to single me 
out for a shot without endangering Muraiche. 
So we travelled until a thong of one of Moham- 
med's sandals broke on the rocky ground, and 
he asked to be allowed to drop behind a little and 
fix it. Since we were entering a wide open stretch 
below a long slope of hill, I acceded; but as he 
fell behind some distance, I called to him to 
come on, and, when he approached us, turned 
my attention to the men ahead, feeling a sense 
of relief that we were now in more open country. 
The moon was slightly behind us, high in the 
heavens now, and cast our shadows diagonally to 
the right and ahead of us. I watched the shad- 
ows of my horse and myself squirm and undulate 
as they travelled over the ground. As I relaxed 
from the tension under which I had been for 
a moment gazing unthinkingly ahead, the move- 
ment of another shadow caught my eye — that of 
an upward-moving arm and knobbed club. 
There was no time to look first. Instinctively 
with my right hand I thrust my revolver under 
my rein arm and turned my head sharply to find, 
what I had expected, that my weapon was point- 
ing full at the breast of the big fellow Moham- 

[257] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

med, who, stealing up quietly behind me with 
sandals removed, had intended to strike. 

*'Bu-r-r-ro!'' [go on] I said. Lowering his 
club without a sign of embarrassment, he took 
his place in line, the others apparently having 
been oblivious to the whole affair. 

After he left me, and the excitement of the 
moment had passed, cold chills chased one an- 
other up and down my spine. From then on there 
were no sign of thieves. For four hours I had 
ridden with my finger on the trigger of my pistol 
covering my men. For four hours I had sensa- 
tions which I do not care to experience again. 

About one o'clock in the morning, high up on 
the hilltop we sighted the white walls of Kussa- 
bat, and after some hard climbing we came into 
full view of the silver city, glistening in a bath 
of silver as E3ioms had shone in a flood of gold. 

A few words with the town guard, and the great 
doors of its main gate, the Bab-el-Kussabat, 
creaked and groaned as they swung open. We 
entered the city and clattered up the steep, nar- 
row streets, where, from the low housetops on 
either side, sleeping forms, muffled in baracans, 
awoke and peered over at us, and big white wolf- 
hounds craning their necks set pandemonium 

[ 258 ] 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

loose from one end of the town to the other, as 
they snarled and yelped in our very faces. 

Soon we were in a small fonduk with doors 
heavily bolted. The other occupants were a 
selected stock of camels, goats, sheep, and fowls 
taken from the Arabs by the Turks in lieu of 
taxes; in fact, the fonduk had been converted 
into a sort of pound. On the roof were a dozen 
or so of Arabs and Blacks asleep, and I preferred 
their company in the moonlight to that of my 
four men under the dark archways. To prevent 
scheming, I took with me Muraiche, the cause 
of all the trouble. Some of these Blacks and 
Arabs raised up out of their sleep to see, prob- 
ably for the first time, an apparition in khaki and 
a white helmet. Then we lay down and, thanks 
to the previous night's rest, I managed to keep 
awake most of the night. When Muraiche 
rolled over in his sleep, or a neighboring Black 
muttered in his savage dreams, I would start 
from my dozing. 

True, I gave my men no baksheesh at the jour- 
ney's end. I might have had them thrown into 
the foul Turkish prison of the Castle; but, after 
all, it was the life of these men of the Desert — 
they had only tried their little game and failed. 

[ 259 ] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

And the stakes ? My revolvers and ammuni- 
tion, the leather of my saddle and riding leggins, 
and perhaps a gold filling in my teeth. They 
knew I had no money, for in the presence of 
Muraiche I had deposited it at Tripoli, and Mu- 
raiche himself carried only the necessary funds 
for the journey. But modern weapons are a pro- 
hibited import, save for the Turkish army, and 
are worth their weight in silver to the Arabs. 

Why such a risk for such small stakes ? Well, 
why will the Desert thief risk his life for a bara- 
can, or an Arab scavenger dig up the corpse of 
a plague victim for the miserable piece of sack- 
cloth that girds his loins ? 

The next morning by half-past three the fon- 
duk was astir and we breakfasted. While the 
horses were being saddled and the donkey 
loaded, I seconded a proposal by Muraiche to 
look about Kussabat. It was evident that both 
he and the guard who had accompanied us were 
disposed to inveigle me into dark and out-of-the- 
way streets and I soon retraced my footsteps to 
the fonduk, paid the keeper for the stabling 
of my animals, and left Kussabat through its 
other gate. 

Descending to a plateau we soon passed the 

[260] 




to 



o 

a 

■4-J 

X 

a; 



be 



A NIGHT'S RIDE WITH ARAB BANDITS 

outskirts of some extensive olive groves. Here 
the guard left us and we entered the mountains 
again, often following through gorges which shut 
out every breath of air and where the heat was 
stifling. Sometimes we camped in these gorges 
at night, and the bark of the jackal or the idiotic 
laugh of a hyena would echo and reverberate 
from the rocky walls. The day was one of the 
hottest, for it was now African midsummer and 
the sun beat down relentlessly on our suffering 
horses. Beside me on the dapple-gray stallion 
rode old Muraiche. His hooked nose resembled 
more than ever a vulture's beak, and his crafty 
eyes looked out from a bronzed and wrinkled 
physiognomy. Ahead Mohammed and Ali 
trudged wearily, ankle-deep in the hot sand over 
a sun-baked plateau. Noon x^ame and I saw to 
it that the animals were at once unsaddled and 
fed; then we ate, and the men prepared to 
stretch out for their hard-earned siesta. But 
this was not to be. I meant that by the end of 
that day's journey they should find themselves 
more ready to sleep than to scheme. 

''Saddle up!'' I ordered. My only concern 
was the horses, and they had already had an 
hour since eating. However, this unusual cur- 

[261] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

tailing of the mid-day rest was resented by all 
three, but particularly by Mohammed and Ali. 

"They say they will not go!'' repeated Mu- 
raiehe, the sly old fox not caring to openly take 
the stand himself. 

''Then let them stay here in the Desert without 
water, food, or guns; we will take the pack 
donkey with us." 

The double-faced old rascal would not openly 
side with the mutinous pair, and the result was, 
they sullenly saddled up. We did a day and a 
half s journey in one, but they slept that night; 
so did L 



[262] 



CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

A DESERT EPISODE 

CROWNING the highest crest of some Sa- 
haran sand-hills, a lonely castle glistened 
like a jfire opal against the azure of a Desert sky. 
Over its whitewashed Moorish walls and ram- 
parts the lowering sun splashed in orange gold 
and dyed a lurid red the crescent flag of the 
Turk, which hung lazy and lank from its hal- 
yards. From the castle a hundred yards away 
stretched a gentle slope of sand over which two 
figures passed back and forth, their manner be- 
speaking the tenseness of their conversation. 

Such was the picture framed by the circular 
rim of a little three-inch mirror [a part of my 
shaving kit] into which I was looking. 

The place called Jefara was a lonely spot. 
Besides the castle, which garrisoned some sixty 
Turks, there were but two other habitations. 
One was the house of the Bey, the Arab governor 

[263] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

of the province, from which high walls squared 
themselves about the seclusion of his seraglio and 
gardens ; the other a small building at the corner 
of the wall nearest the castle. This served fre- 
quently as a lokanda for belated wayfarers, but 
primarily as a rendezvous where the garrison 
could exchange their few paras, and the Arabs 
of the wadan their scant earnings, for coffee 
brewed in little brass utensils and poured into 
cups of British make. A broad stone seat lined 
the walls of the single room within, and outside 
one flanked the entrance on either hand. 

Muraiche had, upon our arrival, made ar- 
rangements with the Black who ran the place 
to quarter there for the night, and to provide 
green fodder from the neighboring oasis for the 
animals. 

By hard travelling the following sunset should 
find us at the end of our long, tedious journey, 
back again in the town of Tripoli. This near 
approach to civilization made me realize that, 
out of consideration for my friends in Tripoli, 
certain neglected duties must at last be met face 
to face, and so the last glow of waning sunlight 
found me outside the lokanda, belathered, razor 
in hand, peering into a small pocket mirror 

[264] 



I 



A DESERT EPISODE 

balanced uncertainly against a bar of the iron 
window grating. 

Some dozen Arabs and Blacks stood about or 
squatted on the ground, eying me with native 
curiosity, thinking likely enough that only a fool 
Christian would shave his beard. One in par- 
ticular, a nephew of the Bey, engaged me in con- 
versation on the subject. He was dressed in a 
scarlet burnoose of beautiful texture and wore 
tucked back of his ear, after the manner of the 
country, a bouquet of small blossoms. 

Again the two figures appeared in the mirror, 
passed across the crack in its surface, and moved 
beyond the rim. One, dressed after the manner 
of a high-class Arab, was the Bey. But my in- 
terest lay in the taller of the two men, a Turkish 
oflBcer in command of the garrison. For it was 
he who had joined me over my coffee upon my 
arrival, and had sought in French adroitly to 
cross-examine me under the guise of a persua- 
sive affability. 

I told him I was an American, that we had 
come from over the range of the Gharian and 
were headed for Tripoli. 

''But your clothes.^" he queried, as he eyed 
suspiciously my suit of khaki. 

[^65] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

^'I bought them in Malta. We lay over a 
day and I was pressed for time, so an accommo- 
dating tailor on the Strade Reale refitted these 
from a previous order. You see/' I continued 
jokingly, "my jacket was at first intended for 
a captain in the British service, and by rights 
these trousers should now be adorning the legs 
of an army surgeon.'' But no trace of a smile 
lit up his bronzed face. 

"Your firman," he demanded. "I will see it." 

"The courtesy of your Turkish Pasha at Trip- 
oli has rendered one unnecessary." 

"No firman," he ejaculated; "you are travel- 
ling through the territory of the Sultan sans 'ftr- 
man,'^ and abruptly left me. 

I was not again aware of his presence until 
the silver disk reflected the two figures as they 
strode back and forth behind me. "'Gharian 
. . . firman . . . Tripoli ..." drifted to my 
ears, and suspicious glances in my direction 
left no doubt that I was the subject of their 
discussion. 

Dusk was now settling over the Desert. Mu- 
raiche poured from an earthen jar a thin stream 
of water into my hands, for I washed after the 
manner of the Arabs; then, leaving me, he en- 



A DESERT EPISODE 

tered the lokanda, supposedly to spread my rug 
and prepare things for the night. 

My surprise and indignation were not to be 
concealed when on entering I found him busily 
gathering together the outfit. "The Sahib 
[officer] he order me take the things to the 
castle," grunted Muraiche. 

''Well, the Arfi [master] orders that they be 
left here.'' Having seen my orders carried out, 
I repaired to one of the stone seats outside, where 
the officer soon joined me. 

"You will be my guest at the castle to-night,'' 
he proffered. 

"Thanks, but I have already made arrange- 
ments to stay here." 

"La, not here among these Blacks and men of 
the wadan; it is dangerous." 

"I am sure it will be safe enough under the 
shadow of your castle, and this seems the most 
comfortable place I have quartered in for three 
days." 

Back in his deep, sinister eyes I caught a look. 
I had no desire to enter the castle and to stake 
my safety or convenience on the whims of an 
erratic Turk. Besides, mere detention in a 

Turkish fortress would have placed me more or 

[267] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

less at the mercies of old six-fingered Mohtar, 
the Tripoline horse dealer, with whom the 
contract for my animals expired the following 
day. 

An hour later a Moorish lantern which the 
Black had hung over the lintel of his doorway 
cast its uncertain light over the swarthy- visaged 
men who sat about, engaged in guttural conver- 
sation or quietly smoking their long kief pipes. 
By its light I had jotted down a few notes of the 
day's journey, and had now settled comfortably 
back and watched the curling smoke wreaths, 
like the fumes of so many Aladdin's lamps, twist 
and curl straight up toward the darkness and 
the stars. 

But in place of the evil ^^jinnee" again ap- 
peared the assiduous Turk. 

"Come," said he, standing in front of me, 
"and we will drink mastica together at my quar- 
ters. 

"You decline.^ Then take a promenade and 
I will show you the castle." 

Under the circumstances I was not keen to 
visit this particular Turkish stronghold at ten 
o'clock at night, so replied that I was tired from 
the day's journey and was just about to turn in. 

[268] 



A DESERT EPISODE 

^*But just a petite promenade — dix minutes/* 
he urged. 

"Monsieur, I wish to be left alone/' 

Within the flicker of the lamp's rays his man- 
ner changed, a red anger flushed over his face, 
his sinewy hand shot out and seized me strongly 
by my wrist. "I order you to the castle,'' he 
hissed in my face. Some of the Arabs sprang 
up. My free hand had dropped to my holster, 
while with a twist I freed my arm. 

"'Monsieur," I said, springing to my feet, "if 
this is an invitation to spend the night as your 
guest at the castle I thank you, but must decline; 
but if you have orders from Redjed Pasha to that 
effect, show them to me and I will gladly com- 

ply." 

"Bah," he jeered, "vous faites mal. When 
do you leave — in the morning V^ 

"Perhaps at three, perhaps at four." 

"I go with you," he added and disappeared 
from the arena of lamplight in the direction of 
the castle. 

The Black mounted the stone ledge, unhooked 

the lantern, and disappeared inside the lokanda. 

He at once closed the heavy window shutters 

inside the bars, and when the last one had en- 

[269] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

tered threw over the heavy bolts of the door. 
The natives, casting off their baracans, spread 
them along the stone ledge, upon which they im- 
mediately stretched themselves for the night. 
Kicking off my riding leggins I lay down on my 
rug. 

Piff ! The Black groped his way to his place, 
and soon only the heavy animal-like breathing 
of the sleepers broke the stillness of the darkness. 

For some time I slept soundly, but finally the 
heated closeness of the place, which was among 
the least of its detractions, became unendurable, 
so, picking up my blanket, I quietly unfastened 
the door and slipped out. ^^Halt!'' rang out the 
challenge of a guard from the nearest corner of 
the castle. Lying down on one of the stone seats 
at the side of the door, I pulled my blanket over 
me, vaguely heard some one slip the bolt of the 
door again, saw a dusky baracaned figure emerge 
around the corner of the lokanda and occupy 
the other seat, then fell asleep in the refreshing 
cool of the Desert night. 

It must have been two o'clock in the morning 
that I was shaken awake by a Turkish soldier. 
The oflScer, by having placed my three men and 

[270] 




" His . . . hand shot out and seized me strongly by the wrist " 



A DESERT EPISODE 

myself all night under the surveillance of a 
guard, had seen fit to forestall any premature 
departure, and now came in person, greeting me 
with the remark, *'It is time to start.'' 

I was in none too gracious a mood, having 
been so unceremoniously aroused. Further 
sleep, however, was out of the question, and 
other travellers were already bestirring them- 
selves. 

*'I am travelling for my own pleasure and in 
my own time," I said curtly. 

The next half-hour was spent over our break- 
fast while he stood insolently by. Then Mo- 
hammed and Ali secured the kit on the pack 
donkey, Muraiche and I swung into our saddles, 
and set out accompanied by the oflScer. 

It was a glorious morning as we rode over 
hillock after hillock of moonlit sand: one of 
those Desert moods which leave their indelible 
impress upon the traveller who seeks her arid 
wastes. And I rode slowly that I might drink in 
all that these great solitudes had to offer, too 
slowly for my self-imposed escort. His restive 
Arab mount was a superb animal, and the oflScer 
tired, as I meant he should, of my slow pace. 
Long before the pinks and greens of the sand 

[271] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

appeared in the early dawn he had given rein to 
his horse, ordering us to follow to the next army 
post, a half day's journey ahead. The order, 
however, was unnecessary, for only Bedawi and 
Desert thieves dare leave the main caravan 
trails. 

The sun was scorching down on the Desert 
with a wilting heat when we slowly drew up at 
the outpost, typical of those which here and there 
are scattered along some of the main trade routes 
to protect caravans and prevent smuggling. 

There was no need of dismounting, for our 
companion of the early morning came toward us, 
followed by two Turkish infantrymen, each of 
whom carried a loaded magazine rifle resem- 
bling closely the old Lee of our navy, while belts 
filled with ammunition sagged heavily about 
their waists. 

*' These two soldiers,'' said he, ^'will escort 
you to Tripoli. Adieu, Monsieur," and a ma- 
licious smile lurked about the corners of his 
pointed mustache. 

He addressed a few words in Turkish to the 
soldiers, handed the younger one a heavily 
sealed document which he tucked in his belt, 
the two men saluted, and we set out. 

[272] 



A DESERT EPISODE 

^'What did he say to the men, Muraiche?'' 
I inquired shortly. 

^'He give orders they not lose you, keep their 
eyes on you always, and when we see Tripoli 
they go quick to the Bashaw with the paper." 

The news was not welcome. I never had 
aspired to being personally conducted; besides, 
should the letter precede me it would be prejudi- 
cial to my future interests in Tripoli. My course 
was plain. I must anticipate its delivery by see- 
ing the Pasha first. 

My escort wore high red Turkish fezes and 
brown uniforms whose patched and dilapidated 
condition was characteristic of the Ottoman sol- 
dier of the Tripolitan frontier. The elder was 
a veteran upon whose sensibilities the untutored 
tactics of the younger seemed to rasp like the 
chafing of a bow across a Sudanese gimbreh. 
At first they marched with unslung guns and 
viewed my every movement with suspicion. 
Perhaps they were afraid that I would steal the 
Desert, as only mile upon mile of limitless sand 
lay about us. I mitigated this fear, however, by 
being content to carry away only a bottle full of 
it; but I am sure that the suspicions of these un- 
sophisticated Ottomans were never fully allayed 

[ 273 ] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

regarding my use of the camera, despite the fact 
that I eventually persuaded them to line up with 
my own men before it. On this occasion the 
veteran proved himself every inch a soldier. 

As time wore on they slung their guns across 
their backs, unslinging them occasionally as I 
halted to use my camera. When I changed the 
films they watched, catlike, every movement- 
I could not resist the temptation to discard and 
surreptitiously bury in the sand with my foot the 
slip of paper containing the developing formula. 
Then the veteran would as surreptitiously slide 
up behind me, dig it out again with his foot, and 
stow it away in his pocket. In such a manner 
he secretly stored away in the recesses of his 
clothes some half-dozen of these slips, later to be 
produced as documentary evidence against me. 
I still wonder what sort of work was made of 
them when they came to translate those chemical 
formulae into Turkish. 

Hour by hour passed slowly. Again I made 
no stop, as is customary in the middle of the 
day, and the Turks with their heavy shoes and 
weighty accoutrements began to show signs of 
fatigue. 

The veteran, however, was still game, despite 

[274] 



A DESERT EPISODE 

the lagging of the recruit, whom he naggingly 
admonished with all his surplus energy. 

But at last the pace proved too much for even 
the veteran, who growled to Muraiche. 

'^He say to stop, go slow, Arfi,'' interpreted 
Muraiche. My plans were working well. 

Mohammed and Ali on foot beside the pack 
donkey set the pace in front. I well knew that 
these half-naked, barefooted men of the Desert 
could walk the Turks to a standstill. So, turning 
to Muraiche, I said: ^^Tell him my men have 
marched many camels' journeys for days past. 
Ask him if an Arab can outwalk a Turk.^'' 
There is no love lost between the natives and 
their Turkish conquerors, and I knew that the 
question would be put with a relish. 

We stopped a space at a Desert well. I now 
sent the men and donkey on ahead, and let the 
Turks take their fill of water and rest, while I 
studied the route carefully from a French oflScer's 
map which had been loaned me. Three kilo- 
metres away there was a double turn in the trail 
as it descended through a rocky sand-filled 
ravine. 

If anything was to be done, it must be done 
soon and at that place. My men with the outfit 

[ 275 ] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

had long since disappeared from view among the 
sand-hills. We at first rode slowly to give them 
a good start, at times gradually increasing or 
decreasing our lead. We were approaching the 
turn, and had almost imperceptibly opened up a 
hundred yards of daylight between us. 

''Halt!'' echoed over the sand as a hillock shut 
us from their view. ''Ar-r-rah!" yelled Mu- 
raiche as he dug the corners of his steel Arabian 
stirrups into his horse's side. We gave the ani- 
mals full rein, swerved around the second turn, 
and dashed down the ravine. 

And it was here that the hardest riding must 
be done. A portion of the gully was exposed to 
the highest part of the trail. And I was not over 
sanguine that the Turks might not fire upon us, 
either by reason of their excitement or deliber- 
ately through a too rigid interpretation of their 
officer's orders. 

This stretch was cleared none too soon, for as 
we disappeared behind the wall of the ravine, 
the red fezes of the Turks silhouetted over a 
distant sand-hill against the sky. 

Not until we reached a point a mile away 
where the trail shelved on to a coast route did we 
slacken speed. Here, deep parallel and inter- 

[ 276 ] 




I 



A DESERT EPISODE 

lacing camel paths were worn into the hard- 
packed surface by centuries of caravan traffic. 
The paths followed over clayey cliffs, literally 
the edge of the great Desert, which seemed here 
to pause before it emptied itself into the sea. 

We soon caught up to the outfit. Not far 
ahead of us three mounted zabtie, a sort of rural 
constabulary who patrol the routes in the vicinity 
of the coast towns, were drawn up across the 
trail awaiting our approach. The sergeant, so 
Muraiche informed me, was a nephew of Sidi 
Hassan, the rightful successor to the throne of 
the deposed Arab house of Karamali. A satis- 
factory reply to their questions, and we were 
permitted to continue on our way. 

The zabtie would soon meet the two hurrying 
soldiers, who might enroll them to apprehend us 
or to carry in the letter. So, as we passed the 
salt chotts of Malaha, I left word for the outfit to 
follow, and we set out at a steady canter along 
the Etreig-el-Kheiber [The Big Road] toward the 
five miles of palm groves and gardens of the oasis 
of Tripoli. An hour before sundown the horses 
and outfit were turned over to Mohtar, as per 
contract, before six o'clock that night, which 
hour is the beginning of the Mohammedan day. 

[277] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

Sunset found me over coffee in a cool chamber 
with his Excellency, Redjed Pasha. 

• ••••••• 

As I passed out into the dusky street I en- 
countered the escort! Handing them some 
baksheesh, I trudged over to my lokanda. 

It was but an episode of Desert travelling in 
a land where the Occidental voyageur is not en- 
couraged. But in spite of Mohammedan antip- 
athy, it was the single annoyance shown me by 
a Turkish official. The officer, I afterward 
learned, was of Arab birth, but educated and 
trained in Constantinople for the Turkish ser- 
vice, and his temerity may, perhaps, be ascribed 
to the enthusiasm of an overzealous proselyte. 

The prismatic rays of passing wedding lan- 
terns lit up my room and drifted like northern 
lights across the ceiling from the street below. 
But I was oblivious to the weird night sounds 
which break the quiet of a Desert town. 



[278] 



CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

THE DESERT 

IT would be well-nigh impossible for one who 
had heeded the call of those vast Desert soli- 
tudes to pass back through The Gateway to the 
Desert without a special tribute to the insidious 
charm of that great land of sand and silence 
which lies behind it. South, the interminable 
African main drifts on to the Sudan; west to 
east it sweeps the whole width of Africa. Even 
at the Red Sea it merely pauses for a moment at 
the brink, then dips beneath the limpid waters 
and continues across Arabia, Persia, and into 
northern India. For a thousand miles along the 
western half of North Africa this belt is screened 
from Europe by the Atlas Mountains, whose 
lofty peaks cut a ragged line against the sapphire 
welkin above them. At their base the Medi- 
terranean, under the yellow light of the southern 
sun, breaks unceasingly against the dark coast 
rocks in a glistening band of gold, which at night, 

[279] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

like a scimitar, flashes in phosphorescent streams 
of silver fire. 

For a thousand miles along the eastern half of 
North Africa the Desert meets the coast, and its 
golden sands blend green with the sapphire of 
the middle sea. But here nature, as though 
timid of thus baring the Desert to the men and 
winds of the north, has shrunk back the coast- 
line three hundred miles from the main high- 
ways of water travel, and lined the barren shores 
with hidden reefs and dangerous quicksands. 

The Desert eagle soaring far above the tawny 
surface of the Sahara looks down on great, won- 
derfully shaped sand reaches; here merging 
softly into broad expanses of Desert grass, or 
creased, where dry river beds have been etched 
into the plains; there vignetting among the foot- 
hills of heat-soaked mountain ranges, whose 
loftiest peaks are crowned with turbans of snow. 

The fertile littoral and the mountainous region 
of Barbary, which extends as far back as the high 
plateau lands, are called by Arabs the Tell. It 
is a remarkably rich grain-producing country. 
Then comes the territory which they designate 
the Sahara [Sahara] — a country of vast table- 
lands, over which is sprinkled a veritable archi- 

[280] 



THE DESERT 

pelago of oases. Here, under the shadow of 
their date-palms, the inhabitants grow gardens 
and graze flocks and herds on the open pastur- 
ages. Due to the imperfection of geographical 
knowledge, the name Sahara was erroneously 
applied by Europeans to the entire region of the 
Great Desert. Beyond these table-lands of the 
Sahara lies what, to the Arabs, is the real desert, 
called Guehla, or South, a vague term applying 
not only to the arid wastes which we call the 
Sahara, but also to its hinterland, the Sudan. 

It is a mistake to consider the Desert one great 
waste of hot level sand. Sand there is in abun- 
dance and heat, too; but there are those rocky 
areas, high mountains, and table-lands, over 
which in the north, through the regions of Bar- 
bary, sweep the cold, penetrating winds of the 
African winter. Snow even has been known to 
fall in the highlands; but after the rains in the 
spring the whole country seems to burst forth 
in a wealth of flora. 

As in Tripoli, the native races who make up 
the thirty to forty million people scattered over 
these three great natural divisions of northern 
Africa may be classed under the same three 
heads — Berbers, Arabs, and Blacks. The Ber- 

[281] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

bers have settled throughout the mountains and 
plateau lands; the Arabs mostly in the towns 
and deserts, and the Blacks generally where 
fortune favors them most. Nearly all these peo- 
ple profess Mohammedanism, and intermarrying 
to some extent has gone on for centuries. 

The Berber race is best represented in Bar- 
bary by the wild Kabyles of the Atlas, and in the 
heart of the Sahara by the jfierce Tuaregs. Moor 
and Bedaween best typify the Arabs; the Moor 
is a town-dwelling Arab, the Bedaween a no- 
mad. Of the Blacks there are two classes, the 
bond and the free. 

On the rocky slopes of the mountains, among 
the parched, thorny shrubs, sparse tufts of rank, 
yellowed grass, and poisonous milk plants, can be 
traced the nocturnal wanderings of the hyena, 
by the huge doglike tracks he has left; there, too, 
the jackal howls as the moon lifts over a moun- 
tain crag; or the terrific roar of the lion suddenly 
breaks the stillness of the night, as though to 
shake the very mountains from their foundations 
and send their great boulders crushing down on 
some sleeping Arab douar [village] which, per- 
chance, lies at their base, like a great glow- 
worm in its stilly whiteness. 

[282] 





tc 



o 









THE DESERT 

In the sunshine, low down among the patches 
of halfa and grasses of the plains, the swallows 
eternally skim and the wild gazelle feeds. Here, 
too, the jerboa nibbles at the roots and grains, 
and the sand grouse and crested Desert lark hide 
away their nests from the watchful eyes of kites 
and falcons which here and there stain high 
against the clear vault on outstretched pinions. 
Now and again in barren stretches the lone sand 
lily nods its blossom in the soft wind, and little 
Desert snails hang like racemes of white flower 
bells to the under side of the tamarisk bushes 
and blades of rank Desert grass. 

The daily aspect of the Sahara is the reverse 
of that of our country, for in the Desert the land- 
scape is generally light against the sky, which in 
color so nearly complements the orange sand as to 
intensify greatly the contrast. When day breaks 
on the Sahara, the sun shoots long shafts of 
roseate light through the interstices of the palms ; 
their dark red violet shadows wriggle and blend 
away over the gray-pinks and greens of the dew- 
wet sands. Soon the violet mists have turned to 
gold, and day has spread its brazen mantle on 
the sun-scorched Desert. One feels the strange 
weirdness, the uncanny solitude, the oppressive 

[283] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

heat and monotony which make the day's work 
a constant fight against fatigue, ennui, and some- 
times sun madness. Watch the sun sink and the 
color of its hght sift through space as through 
gems : there, where the blue sky lowers to the hot 
sand, it might have filtered through some green 
peridot of the Levant. Such are some of the 
aspects of the Desert, whose charm places one 
under a spell which it is beyond the power of 
words to make real to the imagination of one who 
has never seen it. 

It is little wonder that the ancients saw in the 
Sahara, dark dotted with oases, the graphic 
simile of the leopard's skin. The call of those 
limitless reaches is as subtle and insidious as 
must be the snow fields of the Arctic. Listening 
to it, one is beguiled onward against the gentle 
pressure of its capricious south-east breezes, 
under which date-palms nod their graceful crests 
over the murmuring oases; and to-night as I 
write I look out in imagination on that Leop- 
ard's Skin from under the broad lip of my sun 
helmet. No sound but the soft scuff of our 
horses and the creaking saddle leathers breaks 
the stillness; no shadows except our own paint 
splashes of azure upon the orange sand. Again 

[284] 



THE DESERT 

white-walled, bastioned Tripoli lies many miles 
behind me on the edge of the coast like a great 
silver shell in a stretch of golden sand, and I feel 
that somehow I have again drawn back the veil 
of ages. 

Oases practically determine the courses of the 
trade routes which for centuries have been the 
great arteries of the Desert, oft red-painted with 
the life-blood of caravans. The size of an oasis, 
like that of a caravan, is not a fixed quantity, 
but varies from a few date-palms around a Des- 
ert spring to areas over which thousands of these 
* hermits,'' as the Arabs call the palms, raise 
their delicate shafts. One oasis south of Algeria 
contains over 280,000 trees, and the oases of 
Tuat, south of Morocco, cover many square 
miles of territory. Oases are practically all in- 
habited; most of them are the result of man's 
planting, and in many sandy regions a constant 
warfare must be waged by him against the en- 
croaching sands — yes, and against men — for it is 
said that the most fatal disease in the Desert is 
the sword. 

Outside the town walls and in many oases 
markets are held on certain days of the week. 
On market days, after breaking their lonely 

[285] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

vigils on the far-off pasturages, multitudes of 
sombre-garbed Orientals troop in from every 
path, driving their flocks and herds. Here these 
human streams converge toward the suks to 
mingle with their more brilliantly robed breth- 
ren of the towns. Inside the town gates they 
drift along the narrow streets, into which the 
sunlight sifts through a rainbow of sand dust. 
At these markets, town and country meet to 
trade — Berber, Arab, Turk, Jew, Ethiopian, and 
European barter their products, while Black 
women, their heads covered with woven plates, 
haggle and banter over their wares. 

Water may be struck in almost any region of 
the Sahara and brought to the surface by arte- 
sian wells,^ which are destined to be important 
factors in its development. 

The presence of water there, is perhaps, not 
difficult to explain. One follows a river, which 
gradually lessens as the distance from its source 
increases until it is finally lost — drunk up by the 

* Mr. Charles Robinson, the African traveller, writes of running 
across an artesian well in the Desert south of Tunisia. He says: 
" Pitched our tents at an oasis which had been formed by an artesian 
well constructed by M. de Lesseps, the water from which rises 25 
feet in the air and is made to irrigate 400 to 500 acres of land, on 
which are growing date-palms, pomegranates, tomatoes, onions, and 
cucumbers. Previous to the construction of this well the whole of 
the oasis was nothing but barren sand." 

[286] 



THE DESERT 

sands. After disappearing, it follows under- 
ground courses and with other streams helps to 
form vast subterranean lakes. Such is the case 
with many rivers which flow from the southern 
slopes of the Atlas. These, in all probability, 
eventually find their way to that vast depres- 
sion of which the salt wells of Taodeni are the 
centre. 

Water, of course, is an important feature of the 
caravan trade. Where distances between oases 
are great, Desert wells are sunk at intervals along 
the trails, and in Tripolitania I have seen wells 
faced with a stone curb. It is incumbent on the 
last traveller who quenches his thirst in the Des- 
ert to cover the well, and failure to do so is the 
greatest breach of honor and custom. However, 
careless drivers do leave wells uncovered, and the 
pursued will drink and then destroy the well, for 
life as well as water is sweet. The next arriving 
caravan finds the well filled with sand, or the 
water fetid with the carcass of some dead animal ; 
and, in consequence, perchance another tragedy 
of the Desert is written on the sands. 

In some parts of the Desert, particularly in the 
country of the Tuaregs, there are many hidden 
wells known to them alone. These they conceal 

[287] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

with a cover of wood, brush, or skins, upon which 
they again spread the sand. 

The concealment of wells in that land has be- 
come an art. The Tuaregs place secret land- 
marks about the Desert, and it is said they will 
find a hidden well within a day or two's journey 
from any point in the Sahara. Wells play an im- 
portant part in Desert warfare, and the control of 
a well has more than once been the determining 
factor in a Desert fray, the besiegers being forced 
to retire for water. To wash with water in the 
Desert would be wilful waste to the Arab, who 
performs his ablutions there with sand, as his 
law prescribes. Since, in all lands, riches consist 
of the possession of that which is the greatest 
universal need and desire, it is not strange that, 
in some parts of those arid wastes, a man's 
wealth is reckoned by the number of wells that 
he controls. 

Fatiguing travel and little sleep, with the re- 
lentless sun beating down from above and the 
everlasting, vibrating heat waves wriggling up 
from beneath, will, in the end, try the soul. The 
very watching of men and animals as, step after 
step, they sink ankle deep into the sand, is weary- 
ing. Sometimes it is over naked plains contain- 

[288] 




a 
o 
-M 
o 

o 

a 



'■a 



0) 






&C 

c 






o; 

^ 



a; 



THE DESERT 

ing nothing upon which the strained and roam- 
ing eye can rest; then, day after day, over rolling 
dunes of sand, unfolding, ever unfolding, phan- 
tomlike, away from one. Some take on shapes 
weird and picturesque: here, like fossilized 
waves of the sea; there, crossing and recrossing 
each other in endless monotony. Even its 
grandeur oppresses, and one feels as though a 
heavy curse had settled over this land, from 
which marvellous fables have arisen from the 
loneliness of its inhabitants. 

Watch a light zephyr from the south-east as 
it playfully picks up and twirls the whiffs of 
sand dust swirling about legs of men and ani- 
mals and stinging against their faces. Perhaps 
it dies down as quietly as it came; perhaps the 
wind increases and brings the terrific suffocating 
sand storm in its wake. Then after a week, per- 
haps, of the yellow, suffocating gloom, the sur- 
viving remnant of the caravan emerges, per- 
chance to struggle on over a different country 
from that which surrounded it when the storm 
shut down on the landscape. From the level 
stretches of sand, which vary from a few feet to 
three hundred in depth, this wind will pile up 
dunes a thousand feet high; or, from those 

[289] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

standing, it may twirl and twist out huge pillars 
or sand-devils — due, say the Arabs, to the caprice 
of passing demons. 

Passing caravans always excite curiosity. A 
dark mass appears on the horizon; it seems to 
disintegrate as it comes nearer, and one soon 
discerns the great, lumbering camels. It may 
be a big trade caravan, taking the greater part 
of the forenoon to pass, during which the cara- 
vaneers and your men exchange news; then it 
passes, its tag ends flapping in the wind, for the 
fluttering rags of its caravaneers and the rents 
in the loads are the homeward-bound pennants 
of the north-bound trans-Saharan caravans. Per- 
haps the dark spot proves to be a caravan of 
Bedawi, who, like the will-o'-the-wisps that they 
are, sweep by with all their barbaric parapher- 
nalia. Some of the women are hidden from 
view by wide-spreading, gaudily striped palan- 
quins. At night they camp in a sunken spot 
where grow the spiny cacti and the withered 
camel thorn; by daybreak on the morrow they 
are a speck on the horizon. 

The Desert as an obstacle to communication 
has, in many cases, been greatly exaggerated. 
However, the numerous bones which strew the 

[ 290 ] 



THE DESERT 

trails bear ample evidence that the Desert, like 
the sea, claims its toll. Still, it is a practical and 
much-used highway to its several million inhabi- 
tants. The Black shepherds of the high steppes 
of the Adrar region, north-west of the Niger 
country, cross the Igidi Desert every year with 
their flocks, which they sell in the great markets 
in the oases of Tuat. In like manner, herds of 
cattle are driven from the south into the region 
of the Hoggar Tuaregs, and might easily con- 
tinue north to Algeria if fodder were grown for 
them in the oases. 

Before the advent of the draught camel into 
the western Sahara the ancients tell of a people 
called the Garamantes, who made the long 
trans-Saharan voyages with burden-bearing cat- 
tle; and many inscriptions, rough hewn on the 
Desert rocks, bear witness to the previous exist- 
ence of these people. 

Already the droning hum of the telegraph wire 
is heard in French Barbary and through certain 
sections of the southern and eastern Sahara; 
and, in Tripoli, even the unprogressive Turk has 
stretched a single wire six hundred miles south, 
connecting the sun-baked town of Murzuk with 
the outer world. France, with its Desert forts 

[291] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

and systematic aggrandizement of the sands, will 
soon be the owner of the Sahara. Perhaps the 
day is not far distant when one may purchase 
a railroad ticket from Tangier to Timbuktu. 

The central part of the Desert does not seem 
to have any great intrinsic value, although the 
high steppes between the Sahara and the Sudan 
could be converted into pasturages with a dis- 
tinctly economic value. Such use is made of the 
plateau lands of northern Tripoli and southern 
Tunisia and Algeria. Tunisia has but a million 
and a half inhabitants; under the Caesars it is 
said to have supported a population of twenty 
millions and still had enough cereals to stock 
Rome, acquiring, with Algeria and Tripoli, the 
proud distinction of being the granary of the 
Roman Empire. 

Few now give credence to the theory that the 
sea once flowed over where now is the Desert, 
and there seems to be little doubt but that in 
prehistoric ages the Sahara was a veritable 
Garden of Eden. ^^ Rivers which now traverse it 
in their underground beds originally flowed upon 
its surface and probably formed huge tropical 
streams, for unmistakable traces of the existence 
of still living crocodiles have been discovered 

[292] 



THE DESERT 

within recent years in a small lake in the very 
heart of the Sahara/' 

There also seems good reason to believe that, 
while the Desert sands encroach northward, there 
is following in their wake the fertile, tropical 
vegetation of the Sudan — that the Sudan is en- 
croaching on the Sahara. Thus empires depart, 
races dissolve, and religions change; but the 
great work of the Almighty on the eternal hills 
and trackless sands goes on. 

Night everywhere transforms the commonplace 
into the realm of beautiful, but night on the 
Desert bewitches the imagination and allows all 
of the romance and vague fancy of one's nature 
to run riot. Go out after the dews have chilled 
the air ajid stand alone on the moonlit billows; 
hold communion with those mighty impulses 
which seem to issue from its sands; sound the 
fathomless depths of that dark blue African 
sky, resplendent with its million glittering stars; 
let your eye wander on and on over the undulating 
hillocks, ever rolling away to the horizon of the 
imagination, until the mysterious spirits of the 
Desert are rising dark and ghostlike out of the 
shades of the dunes. Then ifind your way back 
to your rug — spread, perchance, under the 

[293] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

branches of some gnarled old olive tree — and fall 
asleep, to wander among the enchanted cham- 
bers of some Ali Baba, through the mysterious 
mazes of a thousand and one nights. 

• ••••••• 

But of the morrow of the Tripolitans ? 

Through drought, inertia, and unbearable 
taxation, Tripoli's agricultural resources barely 
keep her inhabitants from starvation. Her cara- 
van trade is leaking out to the south by way of 
the Niger, and what little intermittently trickles 
northward is unstable because of the insecurity 
of the routes. Thus the great decrease in her 
leading exports reflects unfavorably on the gen- 
eral commercial prosperity of Tripoli, but more 
saliently emphasizes the need of developing her 
agricultural resources. Turkey seems not only 
indifferent but averse to improvements of any 
kind, apparently not wishing to encourage either 
native or foreign interests, thereby attracting 
attention to the country. Yet with a jealous eye 
Turkey guards this province — perhaps that she 
may continue to squeeze from the flat, leathern 
money pouches of the Arabs more miserable ver- 
ghi and tithes; perhaps that she may maintain 
a door between Constantinople and the hinter- 

[294] 







0) 



o 
a; 

03 






be 

P4 



THE DESERT 

land of Tripoli, through which to secretly re- 
plenish her supply of slaves. 

Along the rough trails back in the plateau 
lands and the mountains of the Jebel Tarhuna 
and the Gharian, I have occasionally run across 
great broken-down coffer-dams. Along the 
coast I have ridden for the greater part of a 
day over the fine-crumbled remains of Roman 
towns, now and again clattering over the tessel- 
lated pavement of all that was left of some Ro- 
man villa which had overlooked the blue ex- 
panse of the Mediterranean. The dams tell of 
the previous conservation of vast water supplies 
which once irrigated the fertile hills and pla- 
teaus upon which a great Roman and native 
population depended. Other evidence is not 
wanting which tells us that in those days much 
of the land was thickly wooded, largely culti- 
vated, and populated. 

It is claimed that since those days great cli- 
matic changes must have occurred to so alter the 
face of the land and convert it to its present arid, 
sun-dried condition. In those times it is said 
that the rainfall was perennial — far in excess of 
the present, and apparently suflBcient for all 
purposes of agriculture; so much so that some 

[295] 



THE GATEWAY TO THE SAHARA 

modern travellers have sought to ascribe the 
construction of these dams to the necessity of 
providing against periodical inundations. 

It is difficult, however, not to believe that the 
works in question which were thrown across 
wadis at different levels served as reservoirs for 
purposes of irrigation, as is shown to-day by the 
existence of remains of similar dams in eastern 
Palestine. 

There is every reason to believe that it will be 
a Christian European power which will open for 
the Tripolitan that sesame which will arouse 
him from his inertia and usher him into fields 
where he will take new heart and courage; and 
Tripoli will be reclaimed from the Desert, not so 
much through the reconstruction of the coffer- 
dam of the Roman as by that modern agency, 
the artesian well. 

Virtuous Europe no longer steals Africans 
from Africa. Her civilization, honesty, and hu- 
manitarianism have frowned upon that; so now 
she reverses the order of things and steals Africa 
from the Africans. 

A little over twenty years ago, just as Italy 
was spreading her wings over Tunisia, France 
alighted on the quarry. Chagrined and an- 

[296] 



THE DESERT 

gered, Italy turned her attention to Tripoli tania, 
a garden plot at her very back door, where to- 
day, next to Turkey, her interests and influence 
unquestionably predominate. To make future 
occupation secure, however, Italy must make 
some tacit arrangement with France for a free 
hand, and prevail upon the other Powers to ad- 
mit her interests there; perhaps she has. It is 
to be hoped, however, that the accession of 
Mehemed V. to the Sultanate of Turkey is the 
beginning of a new and better order of things, 
for both Turkey and her colonies. 

Whatever happens, Hadji Mohammed will 
but wrap his baracan more closely about him 
and mutter, ^^Fate is irrevocable; to oppose des- 
tiny is sacrilege. Allah, Allahu!" 



[297] 



GLOSSARY 

a = a in father 
u = u in rule 

Adan, the call to prayer. 

AddaXy a North African antelope. 

Akawali, [Hausa] a black horse. 

Arbar-Arsat, Street of the Four Columns. 

Arfi, master — used in addressing Christians. 

Ar-r-rah! used to start a horse. 

Ashen, a kingdom just south of Air, southern Sahara. 

Asbenaway people of Asben. 

Asgars, Tuaregs of the Asgar tribe. 

Awasit, the second ten days of the Mohammedan month. 

Baksheesh, a gratuity. 

Baracan, woollen outer garment of Tripolitans. 

Bashaw, or Basha, Arabic for governor, ruler. 

Berbers, descendants of the white aborigines of Barbary [Berbery]. 

Bishna, millet. 

B'is salamah!. On thy peace! 

Burro, go on, get out. 

Chaca, Hausa gambling game played with cowries. 

ChoU, dried lake. 

Cowries, beautiful white shells about an inch long used as cur- 
rency in Sudan. 

Damerghu, a place and a tribe in extreme southern Sahara on 
Ghat-Kano route. 

Dawa, [Hausa] bread. 

Djema-el-Daruj, Mosque of the Steps. 

Djibana, [Hausa] the place of the Cemetery of the Dog. 

Douar, village. 

Esparto, or halfa, a grass indigenous to Barbary. 

Firman, [Turkish] a passport, requiring a special edict of the 
Turkish sovereign granting permission to travel, etc. 

Fonduk, a caravansary. 

Gangara, [Greek] sponge boats which use the trawl. 

[299] 



GLOSSARY 

Gatrunys, people of Gatrun, a town in central Fezzan on Murzuk- 

Kanem caravan route. 
Gedashf, how much? 
Gihanil an exclamation of surprise. 
Gihliy or gibleh, south-east Desert wind which often terminates in 

the sand-storm. 
Gulphor, a room in a seraglio for the exclusive use of the master. 
Hadji Ahmedy a camel raiser and the master from whom Salam 

escaped. 
Haik, an outside garment of colored or striped cloth. 
Haifa or alfa, Arab word for esparto grass. 
Haifa Suk, Haifa Market where esparto or halfa grass is auc- 
tioned or sold. 
Hashish, an intoxicating preparation made from tops of tender 

Indian hemp sprouts, smoked, drank, or taken in confections. 
Huhba I an exclamation used by Hausas. 
Jamal, camels [draught camels]. 
Jehely mountains or mountain region. 
Jehel Nagahza, Nagahza Mountains, in northern Tripoli. 
Jehel Gharian, Gharian Mountains in northern Tripoli. 
Jehad, a Holy War. 
Jemal, camel [draught camel]. 
Jinnee, a Mohammedan mythical order of beings, good and bad 

spirits. 
Kafir, unbeliever. 
Kanijar, dagger knife. 
Kano, the great metropolis of the Sudan. 
Kasrullah, knobbed stick carried by Tripolitans, principally at 

night. 
Kelowis, Tuaregs of Kelowis tribe inhabiting vicinity of Air, 

southern Sahara. 
Kihleh, sacred niche in a mosque placed to indicate the direction 

of Mecca. 
Kief, dried hemp leaves, smoked in pipes. 
Kouha, a saint's house, sometimes called a marabout. 
Lah, no. 

Lakhy or laghi, a palm wine. 
Lasunvadi, Salam's brother-in-law. 
Lakoom, a Turkish candy. 
Lazaretto, [Italian] quarantine. 
Lingua franca, a mixture of Italian with Arabic, Turkish, etc. 

[300] 



GLOSSARY 

Litham, Tuareg cloth mask. 

Lokanda, hostelry. 

Manometrom, the part of a scaphandra which indicates the at- 
mospheric pressure. 

Marabout, a holy man, a Mohammedan saint, also a kouba 
[saint's house]. 

Maria, [not Arabic] a bucket with a glass bottom, used in search- 
ing for sponges. 

Mastica, a Turkish drink. 

Mehari, a running or riding camel. 

Mellah, Jewish quarter. 

Meradi Katsena, a town in the state of Sokoto, Sudan. 

Moor, a town dwelling Arab. 

Orfella, a Tripolitan tribe. 

Palanquin, a canopy on a camel or donkey under which women 
ride. 

Para, small Turkish silver coin, one-tenth of a cent in value. 

Pasha, [Turkish] governor, ruler. 

Practique, quarantine clearance. 

Ramadan, annual Mohammedan fast of thirty days during ninth 
Mohammedan month. 

Redjed Pasha, military governor of Tripoli. 

Roumi, a Mohammedan epithet. 

Sala Heba, one of Salam's masters, sold by him to Hadji 
Ahmed. 

Sans firman, without passport. 

Scandli, [Greek] a flat piece of marble used by naked divers to 
accelerate the descent. 

Scaphander, [Greek] a diver's machine, consisting of air-pump, 
suit, helmet, and tube. 

Scaphandra, [Greek] a Greek sponge diver who uses a scaphander. 

Sciara-el'Sciut, a suburb of Tripoli, on the coast in the oasis. 

Seraglio, sl private Moorish palace. 

Suk, market, generally held in open spots outside the towns or in 
the oases. 

Suk-el-Halfa, Haifa market. 

Suk-el-Thalat, Tuesday market. 

Suk-el-Turc, Turk's market. 

Tebus or Tibbus, a tribe inhabiting the Tibesti Mountain region 
east of the Fezzan-Chad caravan route. 

Temenah, or Teymeeneh, greeting. 

[301] 



GLOSSARY 

TuaregSy a fierce confederation of tribes, who occupy and control 
great sections of the western half of the Sahara. The 
principal tribes are the Aweelimmiden, Hoggars, Asgars, and 
Kelowis. 

Ugurra, an exclamation. 

Verghiy poll and property tax imposed by Turks, 

Wadariy country. 

Wadi, SL river or dry river bed. 

Weled-bu-Sef, a Tripolitan tribe. 

Yahvdiy a Mohammedan epithet. 

Yusef BashaWy the last native ruler of Tripoli and of the line of 
Karamali. 

Zahtie or zaptiahy a Turkish guardsman. 

Zintan, a district back of Tripoli. 

Zinder, a Desert town south of the Fezzan. 

ZerebaSy native huts. 



[302] 



INDEX 



Africa, 296. 

Agriculture, 35-41, 48, 78, 193, 

194, 294, 295. 
Air, 80. 

Algeria, 1, 148, 285, 292. 
Algiers, 123. 

Animals, wild, 237, 261, 282. 
Antiquities, 13-15, 241-242, 291, 

295. 
Arabs, xxiv, xxv, xxvi, 8-9, 39, 

281, 282_. 
Arbar-Arsat, 6, 13. 
Asben, 61. 

Atlas, mountains, 4, 38, 51, 146, 
279, 282. 

Bainbridge, Capt., 101. 
Barbary, xxvi, 4, 121, 123, 146, 

281-282, 291. 
Barca, 2, 4. 
Bedawi, 35, 39, 192-195, 237, 

282, 290. 
Beggars, 7-8, 16. 
Bengazi, 93, 107. 
Berbers, 8-9, 39, 85. 
Birds, 53, 57, 237, 283. 
Blacks, 8, 10, 52, 71-72, 88, 156- 

157, 160, 161-163, 165-166, 
167, 281-282. 
Branding, 10. 

Camel, riding [mehari or mehara], 

43, 65, 66, 68. 
Camels, 16, 18, 146, 151, 159, 

177, 181, 208-233, 291. 
Caravan routes, 4, 54, 78, 79, 80, 

173-174, 189, 243-244, 277, 

285, 287, 290-291, 295. 



Caravan trade, 82, 120, 124, 

170-171, 173-192, 287, 294. 
Caravaneers, 177-178, 197-198, 

205, 256. 
Caravans [Garflas], 50, 54, 55, 

56, 61, 62, 79, 81, 151, 195-196, 

205, 206, 216, 238, 289-291. 
Caravansaries. See Fonduks. 
Carthage, xxiii. 
Castle of the Bashaws, 2, 19, 20, 

21, 68, 100, 125, 195, 259. 
Ceremonies, 25-26, 71, 72. 
Chad, Lake, 80. 
Character, Tripolitan, 32-33, 

36-37, 45-46, 234, 278, 297. 
Climate, 30, 196, 281. 
Clothing, 8, 9, 16, 34-35, 45, 53, 

62, 71, 72, 89, 98, 103, 149, 

191-192, 216, 234-235, 265- 

266, 273, 274. 
Commerce, 44, 45, 61, 62, 79, 81, 

196, 206-207. 
Congo, 61. 

Cortugna, Signor, 159. 
Cowrie shells, 58-59. 
Crete (war-ship), 117, 127, 129. 
Currency, 35, 45, 58-59. 
Custom-House, 5. 
Customs, Tripolitan, 49. 

Damerghu, 81, 205-206. 
Dancing, 240. 
Date-pahn, 41-42, 285. 
Decatur, Lieut., 100-101, 112. 
Dewey, U. S. Dry Dock, 122. 
Dickson, Vice-Consul, Alfred, 14, 

102. 
Dickson, Dr. Robert G., 14. 



[303] 



INDEX 



Divers, 131. 
Diving, 131, 132. 
Dragoman, 179. 
Dwellings, 6, 27-30, 194. 

Eaton, General William, xxv. 
Egypt, 1, 2, 61, 157-158. 
Esparto grass, 48, 120, 124. 
Esparto industry, 124, 145-172. 
Europe, 1, 9. 
European occupation, xxiv, xxv, 

xxvi, 4, 296-297. 
Europeans, 16. 
Evil eye, 18-19, 59. 
Exports, 120, 123-124, 167, 171, 

196, 294. 

Fetiches, 19, 85, 99, 

Fezzan, 4, 42. 

Fighting, 31, 60, 64, 75, 81, 82, 

110-112, 152, 205-207. 
Firman. See Passport. 
Flatters expedition, 86-87. 
Flood, 23, 24. 
Fonduks [caravansaries], 62, d84- 

188, 203-204, 259, 263-264. 
Food, 39, 41-42, 48, 98, 185, 234- 

235, 292. 
France, 1, 291-292, 296. 

Gambling, 58-59. 

Gardens, 188. 

Garflas. See Caravans. 

Gatrunys, 80. 

Ghadames, 65, 68, 77, 82, 83. 

Ghat, 77, 81. 

Great Britain, 1. 

Greeks, 6. 

Greeting, 9. 

Hadj or hadji, 61. 
Hadji el-Ouachi, 105. 
Hadji-Mohammed Gab room, 106, 

112. 
Haifa. See Esparto grass. 
Hausaland, 54-55, 58-64, 174. 



Hausas, 10, 52-64. 
Horses, 43, 180. 
Hostelries, 6, 264, 269-270. 

Industries, 15-17, 193, 194. 
Intrepid, U. S. ketch, 101, 112. 
Irrigating, 40-41. 
Italians, 6, 11. 
Italy, 297. 

Jefara, 263-264. 

Jehad [Holy War], xxiv. 

Jews, 8, 10, 11, 45. 

Kabyles, 282. 

Kairwan, 16, 62. 

Kano, 16, 44, 61, 62, 81, 195, 196. 

Khoms, 238-246. 

Kibleh, 27. 

Knights of St. John, xxv, 96. 

Kola nuts, 61, 63-64. 

Kussabat, 258-259. 

Lakby or palm juice, 42, 59, 73. 

Lebda, 241-242. 

Lizards, 238. 

Lokanda. See Hostelries. 

Maltese, 11. 

Marabouts, 16, 49-50, 83. 

Marcus Aurelius, arch of, 13-15. 

Mecca, 27, 61. 

Mediterranean, 1-2, 4, 100, 120- 

123, 124, 169, 279-280. 
Mehara. See Camel, riding. 
Mehari. See Camel, riding. 
Military, 11. 
Misurata, 16, 28. 
Moors, 16, 282. 
Morocco, 1, 123, 285. 
Mosques, 26, 27. 
Muezzins, 24, 240. 
Murzuk, 21, 201-202, 207. 
Music, 183, 256. 



Nelson, Lord, 105. 



[304] 



INDEX 



Niger, 294. 

Night-watchman, 24-25. 
Nissen, Mr., 104. 
North Africa, 2, 245, 279, 280. 

Oases, 40, 41, 67, 85, 145, 190, 

281, 284, 285. 
Ophthalmia, 7-8. 

ParaZos [corvette], 117, 127. 
Paralysis, diver's, 126-129. 
Passport [firman], 5, 266. 
People, 8, 16, 44-45, 61-62, 222, 

234-278, 281-282. 
Philadelphia, U. S. frigate, xxv, 

100-119. 
Phoenicians, xxiii. 
Plants, 237, 282, 283. 
Plateaus, 4. 
Poetry, 229-230. 
Population, 15, 173, 281. 
Prisons, 21-22. 

Rain, 190, 295-296. 

Rais Mohamed Ga-wah-je, 181, 

182, 186. 
Ramadan, 38, 50, 109. 
Red Sea, 61, 279. 
Redjed Pasha, 5, 68, 100, 142, 

178-179, 266, 269, 278. 
Religion, 27, 33. 
Reptiles, 149. 
Riley, Consul-Gen. William F., 

Introduction, 5, 116, 142. 
Roman Empire, xxiii, xxiv, 13- 

15, 241-242, 292, 295. 

Saddles, camel, 67, 223, 228. 

Sahara, or Great Desert, 54, 63, 
65, 77, 85, 86, 173, 189, 193- 
207, 234, 239, 277, 279-297. 

Salam, 29, 52-76, 93. 

Sand-storm [gibli or gibleh], 199- 
201, 229. 

Saunders, Mr. A., Introduction. 

Sciara-el-Sciut, 28, 111, 181. 



Scorpion, 149-150, 163. 

Senusi, 93-94, 202-203. 

Seraglio, 28. 

Shops, 8, 15, 17. 

Sidi Hassan, 277. 

Sidfa, Gulf of, 4. 

Siren, U. S. S., 112. 

Slavery, 29-30,' 52, 54-56, 59, 63, 

65, 69, 88, 170, 202-203. 
Social life, 34-35. 
Sokoto, 56, 60, 61. 
Sponge divers, 117, 120-144. 
Sponges, 124, 137, 139, 141, 142. 
Stewart, Lieut., 112. 
Streets, 6, 12, 15, 17. 
Sudan, 10, 52, 61, 94, 174. 
Suk, The [Tuesday market], 21, 

43-51. 
Suks, 42-51, 79, 285-286. 
Superstitions, 18-19, 231. 

Tajura, 111. 

Tate, Mr., 243. 

Taxation, 36, 38, 40, 55, 59-60, 

62, 78, 259, 294. 
Tebus, 80. 

Thieving, 17-18, 26-27, 30-31, 
46-47, 187-188, 198-199, 204, 
234, 250-252, 260. 
Timbuktu, 77, 292. 
Trade centres, 61-63, 174, 195. 
Transportation, 10, 42-43, 61, 

150-151. 
Tripoli, History of, Historical 
Note, 
arrival at, 4. 
city of, 1-51, 173, 285, 

297. 
PashaHc of, 1, 2, 4. 
character of country, 

145, 146. 
harbor of, 101, 120, 121- 
123. 

Oasis of, 181, 182. 
Tripolitania, xxiii, 1, 2, 4, 294- 
297. 



[305] 



INDEX 



Tuaregs, 43, 62, 64, 77-99, 282, Vipers, 149. 

287, 288, 291. 

Tunis, 123. Weapons, 62, 89-90, 95-97, 98, 
Tunisia, xxiii, 1, 4, 61, 148, 292, 99, 247, 249-250, 257, 272. 

296. Wells, 5-6, 35, 40-41, 236, 286- 
Turkey, 4, 294, 297. 288. 

Turkish Army and Navy Club, Wild animals, 282, 283. 

19, 20, 125, 242. Winds. See Sand-storm. 

Turkish exiles, 21. Wrecks, 101, 115, 121-122. 
Turks, 11, 45, 240-241, 244, 265, 



270, 272, 273-275, 291. 

United States, xxv, xxvi. 

Vandals, xxiv. 
Venables, W. H., 115. 



Yussef [or Yusef] Bashaw, 28, 
104, 108, 109. 

Zabtie, 241, 277. 

Zinder, 64. 

Zolia, M. Auguste, 14. 



[306] 



V 



p 



OCl 



